


Honey & Smoke

by OldTsuki



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jughead in prison, Southside Serpent Jughead, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, even in an AU this girl can't get a break from her mom, ex-con!Jughead, perfectionist!Betty, protective!jughead, psychiatrist Betty, social worker!Betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-05-25 12:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldTsuki/pseuds/OldTsuki
Summary: Betty Cooper is a transitional case manager who helps ex-convicts readjust to life outside of prison. She’s assigned the the case file of Forsythe Pendleton Jones and expects that she’ll meet a middle-aged criminal at his first exit interview. Instead, she’s completely unprepared to meet the pale, brooding young man that drops onto her couch and asks if he can smoke. Her mind (and body) reacts unprofessionally, but she holds it together through the meeting. She has no idea yet how this case is going to change her life...forever.





	1. Assessment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a word of disclaimer: I am not a social worker, nor am I particularly well-versed with the ins and outs of our legal system. I've done a bit more research for this one than I usually would. Let me know if you think I've messed something up terribly and I'll edit.
> 
> Also, I have not abandoned my other projects. This idea sort of came up and bit me, and wouldn't let go until I typed out an outline, and then I started thinking of how I would format it, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it until I wrote the first chapter. You know how it goes.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think~

Betty Cooper opened the attachment on the email she received from her supervisor. She didn’t think anything of it, at the time. This was just a part of her job, something that she did almost every day. Sometimes she loved what she did and sometimes she hated it, depending on how things went. With her personal background, she found it easy to relate to the assignments that were sent her way, even though her colleagues sometimes struggled to detach their personal moral judgments from their assigned cases. As the file loaded, Betty took a sip of her black tea and winced. She’d dropped the bag in and forgotten about it as the water cooled, and now it had steeped too long, becoming bitter. 

**Name:** Forsythe Pendleton Jones  
**Height:** 183 cm  
**Weight:** 181 lbs  
**Residence:** Rent  
**Street:** 145 3rd Ave., #2  
**City:** Riverdale  
**County:** Rockland  
**State:** New York  
**Country:** USA  
**DOB:** Oct. 21, XXXX  
**Judge:** Lodge  
**Sentence:** 1 - 3 yr  
**Mental Health Needs:** None  
**CSSM:** Low  
**TCU:** Clean  
**Education:** Diploma  
**RST:** High  
**Arrest Date:** June 29, XXXX  
**Arresting Officer:** Doiley  
**Description of Incident:** Officer noted two known male gang affiliates loitering outside Bijou Theater. Officer noted suspicious package that Jones attempted to conceal. On approach, both males reacted with hostility and did not cooperate with direct instructions. Officer searched Jones with probable cause and obtained illegal substances. Officer placed Jones under arrest.

Her eyes lingered on the name at the top of the file. _What sort of parents give their kid a name like that?_ she wondered. It sounded like the sort of thing you’d call a billionaire, not a petty criminal making their way through the judicial system. _Maybe they named him that to encourage him to do better things with his life,_ she mused, taking another sip of her bitter tea. No, it wouldn’t do--she’d have to pour it out and make another cup.

Betty had graduated High School as her class valedictorian. She’d never had a detention, she’d never gotten anything less than an A-, and she’d never erred on the wrong side of the law. Coming from one of the oldest families in her small town, she had always been faced with an unbearable pressure from her mother to uphold their reputations. Even when her family fell apart the year she graduated, and her father ran away with the woman he’d been secretly seeing for years, Betty and her mother simply carried on. A scandal so petty wouldn’t shake the unflappable rectitude of the Coopers.

Perhaps that was why she decided to become a social worker, though. Betty had always been an overscheduled child, pushed by her mother to participate in as many extracurricular activities as possible. She’d given public speeches, written for the school newspaper, participated on the cheerleading team, and between all of it she’d hardly ever had a chance to think for herself. So after graduation, when her mother expected her to major in journalism, Betty resolutely chose social work instead. 

Why? Because she’d seen the way that her mother’s cutting words in the town paper had torn people apart. Betty grew up being taught to look people in the eye, despite the way her parents had exposed the gruesome details of their most private secrets in print. Though she’d always met her mother’s expectations, she’d grown to hate it. Betty didn’t want to be the sort of person that hurt other people--she wanted to do something to help them.

It was that ideology that led her to graduate with University Honors, Summa Cum Laude, exactly four years after she began her undergraduate program. Not only did she become a social worker, but she became a _very good_ one. Even her mother had very little to say in objection to that.

That was probably why she was offered a position in the county justice system as a transitional case manager. It was a new, experimental program. The idea was that a case manager would be assigned to help individuals transition from prison back to regular life, by providing moral support and a sense of community under the guise of quasi-friendship. Each case was carefully selected for the trial program by her supervisor, based on indications that individuals lacked a strong support network on the outside, or belonged to a compromised (criminal) network.

She opened her agenda and scanned the squares. There were a few openings coming up that would work for Forsythe’s entrance interview into the program. She preferred to meet her clients in her own office for the first time, to establish that they would soon be leaving prison and transitioning back into the outside world. Even if guards were standing at the door, she thought that the personal touches of her space helped to forge the level of connection that would be necessary for her program to be effective. Reaching over for the phone, she dialed the number she’d memorized and waited for the warden to pick up. She had no idea yet how that phone call would change the course of the rest of her life.

\-----------

On Tuesday afternoon, at 1:45 PM, Betty stood up and let the back of her knees push her chair away from her desk. She smoothed her pencil skirt and checked that the button at the top of her blouse was still secure. _Elizabeth, first impressions last forever._

Turning the door handle, she fixed her best Cooper smile in place as she admitted two individuals into her office. When the inmate, still wearing his navy coveralls, glanced at her, something completely unexpected happened. Betty had to admit to herself later, he didn’t just _glance_ at her. Deep blue eyes, accentuated by the blue of the prison uniform, smouldered fiercely beneath a fringe of curling dark hair. As they moved over her body, those eyes seemed to caress every detail of her form, lingering over the curve of her hips and the dip of her wrist as her fingers slid away from the handle. When they rose to meet hers, she felt a twist of something low and primal deep within the pit of her stomach. A bit of heat rushed over her face and she quickly looked away.

The guard behind him nudged his shoulder, urging him into her office. Betty stepped aside and let them pass. She gestured toward the leather loveseat, making sure that she didn’t meet his eyes again. “Go ahead and have a seat,” she said, as calmly as possible, as she circled back behind the safety of her desk. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. His body settled onto the couch like liquid, even though his wrists were still handcuffed on his lap. A flash of those deep blue eyes lit up her peripheral vision as she shook her computer mouse to wake up the monitor and light up his file.

The guard shut the door behind himself and stood in front of it, gazing impassively at the narrow vertical window over Betty’s head. She was used to working with prison guards, obviously, and this one was no exception to the profession. Until his prisoner acted up, Betty expected that he would be as unobtrusive as the potted fica in the corner behind her desk. Their state of alert as they guarded the prisoners that came to her office used to unnerve her, but over time as she worked through several of these cases, she’d come to find the slightly inhuman focus natural.

As the screen came to life, she looked back over at the individual on her couch. “So,” she said. “Forsythe.”

His mouth twitched as she said his name--was it almost a smile? Gently, he said, “No one calls me that.”

She picked up a pen and adjusted her legal pad, glancing down at the paper so that she wouldn’t have to meet his gaze again. Congenially, she said, “What do they call you, then?”

“Jughead.”

Betty nodded and wrote down the name, wondering briefly if he split the compound name into two words, or if he capitalized the ‘H’. In her line of work, unusual names were hardly anything to bat an eye at. She’d worked with many clients who went by even more off-putting nicknames.

The real issue she was having was the way that her stomach clenched whenever she looked at him. Betty didn’t believe in love at first sight--she believed in _planning_. Her parents had taught her resolutely that such things just didn’t exist. Taking a long sip of her black tea, which she’d managed to steep for the proper length of time, she gave herself a mental shake. Betty had never been boy-crazy, and she’d certainly never allowed herself to be distracted from her job, no matter what her client might look like. Sure, generally the people who sat on that couch were covered in scars and tattoos, looking like street-born versions of Frankenstein’s monster. Jughead was anything but hideous, but her mother hadn’t raised her to offer herself up to whatever eye candy walked through her door, no matter how much her body might instinctively want her to.

She made herself look back at him and really evaluate him. Pale complexion, with hair falling into his eyes like it was 2006 and he’d just bought the new My Chemical Romance album, he was definitely not her type. She was slightly taken aback to notice that he was quietly studying her as well, though she rationalized that it was hardly out of the ordinary. First impressions, as her mother used to say.

He shifted, and she noticed that he was slightly more muscular than she’d first thought. Not a bodybuilder sort of muscular, but a lean hint of strength--probably a result of the prison exercise program more than anything else.

“Elizabeth,” he said, voice rising inquisitively, eyes flicking up from the nameplate at the edge of her desk. 

Before he finished his question, she smiled wryly and said, “No one calls me that, either, Jughead. It’s Betty.”

He smiled in response--a true, warm, smile, the sort that made her feel happy just by proximity. “Betty,” he amended, “do you mind if I smoke in here?”

Whatever she’d been expecting him to ask, it wasn’t that. She piqued one eyebrow and replied, “Actually, I do. No ashtrays, Jughead. You’ll have to wait until you get back.” At the reminder of his return to prison, he looked quickly away. Well, that wasn’t exactly the way she’d intended to forge their connection. Thinking about establishing trust, she added, “I’ll see about getting you a pack before you leave.”

Still not meeting her eyes, he nodded briefly in understanding. Betty wrote _smokes_ on the margin of her legal pad so that she wouldn’t forget about it. Surprising her, Jughead mumbled, “So, what did I do to get sent to talk to you?”

The guard glanced over at him, then back at the window. Betty frowned slightly, tapping her pen against the page. “They didn’t tell you?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“I’m not complaining, of course.” He looked her over quite obviously as his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “I was expecting that this meeting would be with some sort of little old lady, honestly.”

She arched an eyebrow at that. “Well, with a name like Forsythe, I’m sure you can guess what I was expecting, too.”

He laughed. It slid easily out of him, and Betty thought that it took some of the weight away from his shoulders and beneath his eyes, making him look even more boyish than before. “Point,” he said, still grinning.

Before she let herself smile back at him, she forced her eyes down to her legal pad and resolutely steered them back to business. She was certain now that he was definitely trying to flirt with her, and the best way that Betty knew to handle that was by focusing on the task at hand. “You’ve been selected for a trial program because of your behavior,” she explained, returning to their earlier topic. “Since you’re being released early on parole, I’m going to help you transition back into society.”

At that, he snorted and drawled sarcastically, “So you’re trying to save me?”

Betty wrote _sarcasm_ beneath his name. “Do you think you need to be saved, Jughead?”

His blue eyes flashed back up at hers, cuffed fingers curling briefly and then uncurling. He tensed, perhaps unconsciously, and said, “Maybe a long time ago, Betty. But I don’t think anyone can do much for me, now.”

She carefully recorded _defeat_ and _honesty_ on the next two lines before looking back up at him. “Well, that’s why I had you brought here. Today, we’re going to talk about your strengths and come up with a plan to help you successfully avoid prison in the future.”

The corner of his mouth curled up again. “You mean, you’re going to help me figure out how not to get caught?”

Betty smirked in response and leaned forward over her desk, lowering her voice as she said, “You didn’t notice the sign on the door that said _criminal mastermind_?”

Jughead laughed at that, visibly relaxing. “You’re a natural Doctor Doom, Betty,” he commented. A corner of her mind decided that she liked his eyes the best when they were smiling, and then she chased the thought away as she wrote _Strengths_ in large letters a few lines down on her legal pad. _Focus, Betty. Never lose sight of the task at hand._

As she underlined the heading, she asked, “What are your strengths, Jughead?”

He regarded her levelly for a moment. When he opened his mouth, she was certain that he would say something like _lifting_ or _drawing_. Instead, he said, “Well, being easy on the eyes, obviously.”

She felt that treacherous heat burn across her face like a wildfire as she looked up at him, her mouth falling slightly open. Had he noticed her looking at him? Jughead was grinning easily--no, _seductively_ \--at her, and Betty’s stomach did a traitorous flip-flop in response. She pressed her lips together at the uncomfortable sensation, looking quickly back down at her legal pad.

“Seriously, please,” she muttered, prepared to write whatever he said next.

“I am being serious,” Jughead replied, his tone rising in defense. “But if you want to know my _marketable_ strengths, I guess I’d have to say understanding people.”

At that, she glanced up. Betty counted understanding people as one of her largest strengths, the thing that helped her be so successful at what she did. Jughead wasn’t looking at her this time, but instead examining his hands. She wondered what had happened in his life that led him to that conclusion--usually, her clients weren’t introspective enough to list their interpersonal talents.

“That’s a good one,” she remarked, writing it down. “Would you say that you’re good at management, then?”

Jughead laughed shortly, without humor. “I guess, Betty,” he said, still not looking at her. She thought it was an odd thing to find funny, and wondered again what details of his past she needed to uncover to fully understand him. Without prompting, he said, “I’m okay at writing, too.”

Betty wrote that down dutifully. “Do you mean reporting?” she asked, her mind drifting instantly to the family business she’d willfully diverged from.

He shook his head. “No--well, I mean yes--I guess,” he paused and took a breath. “I can do that, but I don’t really like it. I prefer writing stories.”

The guard glanced over at that, too. Jughead glared up at him wordlessly, as if he was silently threatening retaliation if word of his talent spread within the prison walls. Betty added _fiction_ next to _Writing_ in her notes. It was a huge relief to be back to business, finally, rather than semi-flirting with her handcuffed client. She cut through the tension in the office and said, “Okay, we can work with that. Is it something you have ever tried to pursue?”

Jughead looked back over at her, his eyebrows rising. “You mean, for money?” he asked. When she nodded, he scoffed and said, “I like doing it, but I’m not Stephen King or anything.”

She shook her head. “Actually, I have some background with publishing, Jughead. You don’t have to be Stephen King to make a living with writing. Maybe that’s something you’d like to pursue in the future?”

He looked even more surprised at her admission. With uncertainty evident in his tone, he said, “It’s always sort of been a hobby. I guess I wouldn’t mind if you knew how to turn it into some kind of job? No one ever told me how.”

She nodded, not surprised, adding more notes to the sheet. “Alright, then. I think that gives us a good place to start. I’ll check some of the local job openings and send over a list of things you might be qualified to do. There’s a copy of your resume and your transcripts in your file.”

Completely shocking her, a faint red tinge spread over his face at that revelation. “Oh,” he muttered, glancing away. “Betty, I was sort of a terrible student. My grades never really showed what I could actually do.”

It didn’t surprise her. Most of the people who ended up in her office had simply never been pushed in the right direction. That part of her job, Betty loved. Finding out what they needed to motivate themselves and use their talents to become successful was the best part of what she did. Re-programming their moral compasses so that they didn’t wind up in prison again was the worst part, by far. She felt a stirring of trepidation at that, looking at the way Jughead was still staring at the ground in embarrassment. His file had said he was arrested for carrying an illegal substance--probably drugs of some kind. She hoped that addiction was the only thing that had derailed his life. Otherwise, he was funny and smart, and she was hesitant to find out what might have happened to compromise his moral integrity.

“It’s not a problem, Jughead. Have you thought about any universities?” she asked curiously.

The redness spread. “Oh, no. I’m not going to let anyone trap me with student loans. I enjoy my freedom, thanks.”

Betty raised two eyebrows at that, looking pointedly at his handcuffs. She cleared her throat politely.

Jughead gave her a look. “My metaphorical freedom. From owing people things.”

She made another note under his name. “You don’t like to be in anyone’s debt?” she asked, some of her university psychology classes coming back to her unbidden.

Jughead made a sound at the back of his throat, looking away again. It was more irritated than anything, and it made Betty’s pencil freeze again. 

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, his eyes meeting hers.

“Do what?” she asked, cursing inwardly at how breathy her voice sounded as she drowned quietly in those pools of immense blue.

He straightened and shifted his wrists, like he wanted to brush his hair away from his eyes. The handcuffs chafed visibly and he made himself relax instead as he regarded her. “Question me like I’m a patient. I don’t need a shrink, Betty. I just need a fresh start.”

His words froze her breath in her lungs. Her grip unconsciously tightened on her pencil as another wave of heat rushed over her face. Betty hadn’t meant to make him feel uncomfortable, or overstep her bounds. This was her _job_ , after all. She was supposed to psychoanalyze him a little, figure out what he needed so that he didn’t go straight back to prison after he was let out. Still, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d done something terribly indecent. It wasn’t just her mother’s iron-fisted ideology that suddenly tied her insides into a double knot, it was Betty’s personal sense of decency and drive to do everything _right_. Somehow, with that simple question, she felt like she’d done Jughead wrong. 

Though it went against her usual high level of professional conduct, she rose from her chair. The guard’s eyes flicked to her immediately, trying to anticipate her next move. She gestured to him that it was okay, raising one hand and waving it toward the floor. Jughead was watching her too as she approached the couch. 

She sat on the edge of the cushion next to him and let herself put her hand on his knee, nonverbally offering her reassurance. As her green eyes met his, she couldn’t help seeing the emotions reflected there. Hesitation, uncertainty, worry, and...a sort of longing, that she couldn’t immediately catalog as resulting from any part of their meeting so far. She tried not to think about how warm his knee felt on her palm, or notice the way that his fingers twitched helplessly again like he wanted to do something the handcuffs were preventing. Smiling earnestly--not the fake Cooper smile her mother had ingrained into her, but a genuine Betty Cooper smile--she promised, “A fresh start is what I’m going to get you, Jughead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jug will go back to prison for another month after this meeting, and Betty will set up a conference call to go over his plans for release. After that, they'll be having regular meetings. Things will steam up shortly. :)
> 
> I so appreciate comments, they're very encouraging in terms of keeping an idea going. Do I have Betty Cooper levels of anxiety? No, of course not~~ (chuckles nervously and backs away from computer).


	2. Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for all of your support after chapter 1! This story has been so exciting to work on, and now I have the help of two lovely beta readers, Evie and Squids! They have helped so much with research, and making sure that I'm not developing mysteries where there should be no intrigue. 
> 
> This chapter includes a conference call and the first meeting between Betty and Jug after his release. Enjoy!

_The following is the transcript of a conference call logged at the Rockland County Division of Corrections on Tuesday, February 10, XXXX._

**Start time: 12:51 PM**

1: Hello, is this working? Can everyone hear me now?

2: Loud and clear, Ms. Cooper.

3: I can.

4: Yes, Betty.

1: Alright, so on this call we have Officer Blossom, Mr. Jones, and Jughead Jones, correct?

3: FP, please, Ms. Betty.

1: Okay, FP, and just Betty is fine, thanks.

2: Do you mind if we make this quick? I have an appointment in 15 minutes.

1: That shouldn’t be a problem, Officer. Let’s get to it, then. So Jughead, who is picking you up on your release date?

4: I’m not sure.

3: I’ll be there.

2: FP, am I seeing here that you have a record as well?

[Pause]

3: Is that a problem, Officer?

2: Yes, it is. Associating with any convicted felons will violate the terms of Forsythe’s parole.

4: Jughead.

1: He prefers Jughead, Officer.

2: And I’d prefer that this wasn’t a problem, Ms. Cooper, but here we are.

3: I’ll get a friend to pick him up, it’s okay. Fred Andrews.

1: Does that sound okay, Jughead?

4: I guess it has to.

1: And you’re going to be staying…?

3: With Fred.

2: Will you be renting?

3: No, Fred is an old family friend.

2: Mr. Jones, does that mean that the situation will not be stable?

3: No--

4: No, I’ll pay Mr. Andrews. Do we need a signed agreement?

2: Yes. 

3: I’ll ask Fred to go up there and we’ll get that taken care of.

4: Thanks.

1: Alright, since that’s taken care of, you’ve gotten a job lined up at a local theater?

4: My old job.

2: Noted.

1: That’s great! It sounds like you’ll be returning to a pretty stable life, Jughead.

[Pause]

4: This is me, cheering.

1: Ha, ha. So Officer Blossom, your first parole meeting will be on what day?

2: Thursday, at 3PM. Not a minute later.

4: Got it.

1: Oh, good. That’s right after our appointment time too, Jughead. We meet daily at 1:30.

3: For how long?

1: Three weeks, to begin. 

4: That’s fine.

1: Great! Then unless anyone has any other questions, we can conclude this phone interview.

[Pause]

1: Perfect. Jughead, I’ll be seeing you on Monday at 1:30 in the afternoon, a month from yesterday.

4: I’ll try not to forget.

2: Don’t think that excuse will work for your parole. 

4: It was a joke, sorry.

2: Yeah, the file says you’re a funny one.

3: Always has been.

[Pause]

1: Okay, well it sounds like we’re all done here. Thank you everyone. Officer, I’ll be in touch.

**End time: 1:03 PM**

If four weeks passed a little slower than usual, Betty didn’t notice. She had time to get her nails done with her oldest friend, Veronica. She finished reading her novel and moved onto another one, noting each night with pleasure how her bookmark was steadily making its way from the front cover to the back. She used 84 tea bags in 5 mugs, washing her dishes a total of 17 times. She went running 9 times, and otherwise went through her yoga routine at home.

Meanwhile, she helped one of her clients transition out of the program. Bone Biter was definitely not the model of a modern gentleman, but Betty felt good about seeing him settled back into the comfort of a healthy life. She’d made sure that he got a haircut, helped him apply for a job in a promising career as a security guard, and convinced him to attend his estranged daughter’s high school graduation. At their last meeting, he brought her a little bouquet of flowers and thanked her for her support. 

That was probably why she walked into her first meeting with Jughead Jones feeling like she could really save the world, if she just tried hard enough. Looking at the blue vase of daisies on her desk, she couldn’t help smiling. It was one in the afternoon when she returned from her lunch break to go over the notes in his file before he arrived.

In the month preceding his release, she’d thought long and hard about how she’d reacted to him during his interview. Betty was frankly embarrassed by the way she’d looked at him and allowed herself to become uncomfortable. Jughead Jones was a troubled individual, and she’d promised to help him make a fresh start of his life. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like her unexpected physical attraction stop her from keeping her word. 

As she was mentally reaffirming her convictions, someone knocked softly at the door. She glanced at her clock--Jughead’s appointment didn’t start for another half hour. Betty rose from her chair and circled the desk to open it.

She blinked as she met a pair of deep blue eyes, looking down at her from beneath a fringe of dark curls--had they been trimmed? Her heart skipped in surprise--she swore to herself, thinking about it later, that she literally felt it stop for a moment. Jughead was wearing a heather grey t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, which were rolled once over a pair of black motorcycle boots. The t-shirt accentuated the muscles of his chest and abdomen much more clearly than the poorly fitted prison jumpsuit. She made a critical mistake when she dragged her eyes away from his, because she immediately noticed the way that his shirt dipped and defined what lay beneath. He shoved both hands into his pockets when the door opened, which didn’t help either.

“Jughead,” she stammered, eyes flying back to his face, her mind catching up with her body at last. “You’re early.”

He glanced into the empty office. “Is that a problem?” he asked, a flicker of confusion creasing his brow.

Betty stepped aside and gestured him in. “No, I’m just surprised.”

Jughead sat in the same position on the couch he’d occupied nearly two months before, but this time he casually let one elbow rest along the back. His deep blue eyes followed her as she returned to her office chair. “What, since I’ve been in prison, you didn’t think I knew how to be punctual?” he asked, his gaze intent. 

Betty found herself floundering again. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Nevermind, I’m sorry I said anything. Most of the people who come in here aren’t early, that’s all.” She reached over and took a sip of her lukewarm tea, trying to regain her composure. This was going to be a difficult case if she kept sinking into a mire of guilt whenever he suggested that she’d misread him. She needed to keep her head straight.

That crooked smile that had played so often over his face during their last meeting returned, making Betty’s lower stomach flip with a vengeance. “I’m not most people, Betty,” Jughead commented, his voice low. 

She forced a smile in response, acting like he was making a joke. No, he definitely was not like most people, and she was enough of an adult to admit that to herself. _Focus._ Pulling out her legal pad, she picked up her pen and said, “So, how did it go yesterday? Did Mr. Andrews pick you up on time?”

He sighed visibly, looking away from the desk and in the direction of the only only painting in her office. She’d gotten it at an art fair shortly after being hired, liking the way the artist had used dots to represent the leaves on the trees. Jughead’s face was turned toward it, but his expression of disinterest reminded Betty of the way he’d reacted to her questioning in their first meeting. She wondered if it was something about her that was disrupting the flow of their conversation, not realizing that she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she thought. Without elaboration, to answer her question he simply replied, “Yes.”

Betty piqued an eyebrow. “And how did it go?” she repeated, her pen still poised.

That was when she noticed his eyes flick towards her hand. Thinking that maybe her notes were what was making him uncomfortable, she laid the pen down and wrapped her hands around her mug of tea instead. As soon as she did so, Jughead noticeably relaxed. Betty unconsciously crossed her legs below her desk as blue met green, her fingers pressing a tiny bit harder against the warm porcelain. “It was okay,” he admitted, a little bit of his earlier warmth seeping back into his tone. “Not like a party, or anything, but it was good to eat something that didn’t come out of a plastic bag.”

In response to the emphasis of his final words, Betty smiled in sympathy. “I bet, I hear that prison food is horrible.”

“It’s the worst, Betty. You have no idea. Like, if I were to be given a choice between only eating prison food for the rest of my life, or letting someone saw off my hands and feet with a rusty switchblade, I would make that decision so fast you’d be sure something was wrong with me.” He paused, then ran a hand through his hair restlessly and added in a hasty tone of reassurance, “Nothing is wrong with me, though. I just love food. Good food.”

She couldn’t help smiling genuinely at that. Jughead kept finding a way to get beneath her skin, slipping past her veil of professionalism and connecting to her soul. It was maybe the most he’d spoken all at once since they’d met, and his body language conveyed how passionately he meant what he said. To keep him going, Betty said, “What’s your favorite?”

Jughead let out a breath and looked up at the ceiling, considering for a moment. When his eyes met hers again, he licked his lips and said, “Probably a good burger. Not like McDonalds or some fake garbage, but a real grilled burger with all the toppings.”

“Do you put mayo on your burgers?”

He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes for a moment, apparently envisioning what he described. “Yes, and pickles, and lettuce...tomatoes...onions...ketchup...mustard...cheese…”

She shook her head, laughing quietly at his reverent response. “That sounds like a heart attack,” she commented. “But I’ll note your opinion.”

His eyes flew open, startled. “What?” he said. “You’re going to add how I like my burgers to your notes? Why?”

Betty blinked, backpedaling again at his obvious discomfort. “No, I just meant...it’s an expression.”

Jughead frowned outright. “Oh,” he said. “I think you just say ‘noted,’ Betty.” Before she could apologize, he added, “If the perfect burger sounds like a heart attack to you, then what do you eat? Salad? Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.”

She smiled again. “No,” she replied. “Only on Mondays. But I do try to live a balanced lifestyle the rest of the week.” No need to mention being taught to militantly count calories, of course. _Sugar goes straight to your waist, Elizabeth_. She’d never come to have a pure enjoyment of food the way that Jughead so obviously did...but then again, maybe that was the effect that prison fare had on people. Her other clients often dreamily spoke of fried delicacies, especially close to their release. “So did you get a burger yet?” she asked.

Jughead sighed heavily, his shoulders sinking dramatically. He ran another hand through his hair. “No,” he admitted quietly, the word sounding almost tortured. “Archie and Fred are on this new protein thing, and they’re living off shakes right now. Bulking up for the big construction season.”

Betty nodded, taking another sip of her tea. She remembered hearing that name on their conference call. It was a good thing she’d glanced at her notes, or she might have missed this connection. “Your dad said in the conference call that Fred was a family friend. Do you feel like everyone has been supportive since you’ve been released?”

He looked away. “Archie and Fred are always supportive,” he said dismissively, his shoulders tensing. From his body language, Betty picked up that he didn’t want to talk about it. 

She glanced down and thought of reaching for her pen, to write a few of these things down before she forgot, but Jughead’s concerned expression came back to her mind’s eye. He’d made it clear that he didn’t feel comfortable about her taking notes, and she needed to respect that. This part of the program was about establishing trust, and building a relationship so that he felt comfortable letting her help him work through the issues he faced in rebuilding a healthy life. 

Maybe that was why he’d shut down when she asked about Archie and Fred, she realized. Betty could admit to herself that the rather direct questioning she’d fired at him had seemed overly clininal. Whatever the key to unlocking Jughead was going to be, she was starting to bet that it would have something to do with his aversion to psychoanalysis. Did he have a bad experience with a counselor, or psychologist? The way he’d been quick to reassure her that he wasn’t crazy came to mind. Betty took another sip of her tea, watching him over the rim as she considered her observations.

Jughead was looking at her painting again, one hand fidgeting restlessly with the curls that hung over his eyes. He shifted on the couch, his body still tense. Betty began to wonder if it was her office that was putting him on edge, somehow. She’d decorated carefully, bringing in a lamp from home and placing some houseplants in the room to liven up the space. Sure, she had a file cabinet and a desk occupying about half the space, but she thought that her couch was comfortable enough. Betty even had a few items on the edge of her desk that clients could manipulate, if they wanted to. She felt like the space was comfortable and classy, and more personal than a typical office. Watching the way that Jughead was interacting with the space, she wondered for the first time if it wasn’t as welcoming as she’d thought.

That was why Betty allowed their first meeting to wrap up a few minutes early, also knowing that he needed to make it over to the parole office on time. As she reminded Jughead that they would meet tomorrow in the same place, at the same time, his hand rose anxiously to the back of his neck.

“Oh. Do I just, uh, get up and leave? Should I shake your hand, or something?” he asked, face coloring in embarrassment. His raised arm had allowed the hem of his t-shirt to rise up a bit too far, revealing a strip of pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. Betty couldn’t help noticing the dusting of dark hair over the silver button. With another mental shake, she dragged her eyes away and prayed that her cheeks wouldn’t blush again.

Glancing at the flowers on her desk to re-ground her thoughts, she felt like Jughead’s nervousness was just another affirmation that she’d chosen the right career. Seeing him react so awkwardly was just so very _human_. She loved seeing people unfold, revealing their true inner selves as she worked with them. 

In response to his question, Betty came around to the front of her desk and leaned back against it casually, crossing one ankle over the other. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable. You can think of me as a friend while we’re meeting. Our conversations are confidential, and I don’t have to report anything you say unless it involves physical harm. If you want to shake my hand, that’s fine.”

As she spoke, he looked up hesitantly at her. Jughead rose from the couch, his body swaying slightly forward. At the last second, just as her mind frantically screamed that he was about to put his arms around her, he shoved both hands into his pockets and pressed his mouth into a hint of a smile. “Oh. I was wondering about that,” he said, glancing away. He put a hand on the door handle. Before he opened it, his deep blue eyes met hers once more. The same expression of mingled emotion she’d noticed during their first meeting flickered over his face, and Betty had a brief insane impulse to put her arms around him, instead. Her hands clenched the edge of her desk just a little bit more tightly. Jughead licked his lips and said softly, “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He let himself out of the office, and she gave him a little wave when he glanced back over his shoulder through the open door. Betty waited until he turned the corner of the hall before she went back to her chair. With another glance to make sure that he was truly gone, she let herself bend forward until her head was resting on the desk, her ponytail listing to the side and splaying out next to her cheek. She drew in a deep breath.

After a few minutes of intentional breathing, she straightened. The tension at the core of her stomach was beginning to ease. Betty slid her legal pad over and began to record what she remembered of their conversation, just in case it would later reveal some detail that would help her ascertain what sort of lifestyle choices would keep him out of trouble for good. She’d always loved keeping meticulous notes, and they’d helped her have breakthroughs with her clients on more than one occasion.

She quickly filled out the bones of what they’d discussed, then drew a line across the bottom quarter of the page. _Likes burgers,_ she wrote beneath her notes, trying to summarize. _No notes,_ she added, pressing her pen a little too firmly as she added a period for emphasis. _Fred and Archie?_

Betty leaned back in her chair and straightened her ponytail, her eyes returning to the empty couch on the other side of her desk. Without realizing it, her bottom lip slid between her teeth and she began to worry, wondering if their second meeting had gone any better than the first. She hadn’t let herself get too distracted, had she? How was she going to make it through another three weeks, feeling like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before, I love hearing what you have to say about the story! Please comment, I say nice things back. :) 
> 
> I'm moon--mama on tumblr.
> 
> Like my literature professor says, Onward! :D


	3. Location

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my beta readers are amazing and wonderful, and they've put up with me going on and on about this story until well after the time I would usually be asleep (probably resulting in less than coherent conversation from me lol). Thank you to Evie and Squids, you are both amazing and I am so lucky that you are involved with this! :)
> 
> And I am also so grateful for all the comments and shares and general support that has been happening around this story...it's so motivating and exciting. And...what? I'm not ugly crying...

On Tuesday, Betty and Jughead discussed his plan for a permanent living situation. He was even more uncomfortable and withdrawn than he’d been at their meeting on Monday. Betty could almost see the way that his body was trying to curl into itself, to take up the least amount of space in her office as possible. After their session concluded, she tapped her pen against her legal pad in thought. She certainly didn’t want to keep torturing him unnecessarily, and it definitely seemed like he had some sort of aversion to her office. At least, she hoped it was her office, that it wasn’t something he found intimidating about _her_.

On Wednesday morning, Betty decided that there was only one way to find out. She walked into her supervisor’s office, heart already hammering about the prospect of suggesting such a nontraditional approach. Weatherbee was on the phone, and he gestured to a chair when she stopped at the door. Feeling like she was intruding, Betty sat down and waited for the call to end. 

“Yes, I understand. We’ll gather the data as quickly as possible and get back to you. I’ll have someone check in with our closed cases immediately.” He paused, as the person on the other end said something. “Of course, you can do your own research. I think that psychologists will be able to evaluate these people better than untrained clerks, if you’d like my professional opinion.” Another pause, and Betty stared resolutely at the framed photograph of her boss at the beach--the only personal item the kept in the office. “We’ll meet and collaborate then. Thank you, I’ll have one of my people get in touch.”

He set the phone back in the cradle and looked over at her. The stare he leveled from behind his round wire glasses was always so intense that Betty felt sure he was reading the deepest secrets she’d inscribed on her soul. He laced his fingers together and propped his elbows on the desk, still regarding her steadily. “Sorry about that, Ms. Cooper. What brings you into my office today?”

She quietly cleared her throat. “Oh, it’s one of my clients, sir,” she said. “I wanted to ask your permission to take an unusual approach.”

His face remained impassive. It was identical to the expression he wore at the beach, in the framed photo on his desk. Betty had always privately wondered if someone had cut his head out of a photograph and put it on someone else’s body, since she had never known her boss to take any time off, let alone go somewhere for rest or relaxation. In her mind, he was like a machine. “Explain your rationale, please,” he instructed.

Betty rustled the notes she’d brought with her, glancing down at them. Her eyes caught Jughead’s name once or twice, sending her stomach into a mighty twist of nerves as she gathered the best words to explain the situation.

“It’s my new case, sir. His name is Forsythe Jones, and we’ve met twice for daily sessions so far. I’ve observed that he seems extremely uncomfortable in the office, and I feel like he would be more willing to open up if we held our meetings in another setting.”

Weatherbee didn’t react, his eyes still regarding her steadily. When she realized that he wasn’t going to say anything, she looked down at her notes again.

“I know it’s not a traditional approach, sir. But his records state that he’s not violent, and the first evaluation from his parole officer was all positive. I was thinking that he would feel more comfortable meeting somewhere like a coffee shop, or the library, sir.” She realized that her words were coming more quickly, and she closed her mouth. Silence stretched between them, as she hoped Weatherbee was considering what she’d suggested.

He leaned back in his chair, still looking at her. “I’ll be plain, Ms. Cooper,” he said at last, his face showing no sign of emotion that indicated his reaction to her suggestion. “You’re good at what you do. Maybe one of the best on our team.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, but he waved one hand to indicate that he wasn’t done. 

“If you think that you’ll have more impact with this client by meeting outside of the office, then I trust your professional judgment. But I would be remiss not to make you aware of my concerns.” He continued to stare at her, the intensity of his eyes making her feel like she was sixteen years old and she’d been called into the principal’s office. Betty willed herself not to squirm in her chair. “You’re a single young woman, and to my knowledge you have not engaged with any romantic partners during your time in this office. I must remind you that there is a reason these individuals have been incarcerated. Please ensure that you do not place yourself in a position which compromises your safety, Ms. Cooper.”

Betty felt immediately defensive at the suggestion that she might be putting herself in harm’s way, but she didn’t allow herself to react. She knew that Weatherbee was just watching out for her well being, and she knew that she should appreciate that. Instead of saying anything else, she nodded. “Thank you for understanding, sir. I’ll let you know if there are any issues.”

She rose from her chair and walked back to her office, not meeting the eyes of any colleagues that watched her curiously. Generally, no conversation with the boss meant things were going well. Betty knew that by simply going to the office, they would suspect that she was somehow struggling. 

As soon as she reached her desk, she flipped the switch on the side of her electric kettle and began to brew herself another cup of tea. It was half past twelve, and even though she could technically take her lunch break before Jughead’s appointment, she knew that he would more than likely arrive early. Plus, she had an idea in mind for their first meeting outside the office, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t object.

As her clock rolled over to one, Betty caught sight of a dark-clad individual making his way down the hallway in her direction. She couldn’t help the bubbling feeling of excitement that stirred her stomach at his approach. Was she excited because she was going to try her new idea, or was the bubbling feeling simply hunger?

“Hey,” he said, his blue eyes meeting hers, face neutral. Jughead settled into his position on the couch, looking over at the painting and struggling to appear nonchalant. 

Betty drew in a deep breath. “Hi, Jughead. Actually, before you get too comfortable, I had a suggestion.”

He looked over at her with curiosity. His body language was the opposite of comfortable, which made her wince inwardly again as she wondered what she could to do reassure him. Betty knew that he wasn’t going to just come out and explain how he was feeling while he was still so tense. 

“I spoke with my supervisor, and got permission for our meetings to take place outside the office, if you would prefer that,” she said.

Jughead’s body seemed to melt a bit, the tension left him so quickly. “Yes,” he almost breathed, his eyes meeting hers and succinctly conveying his immense relief. 

Betty nodded, the corner of her mouth curling into a sympathetic smile. Rising from behind her desk, she picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “I expect that you’ll eventually tell me what makes you so uncomfortable, though,” she muttered, looking up at him as he rose to follow her.

Jughead looked surprised that she’d noticed, but he nodded. Betty stepped into the hall and waited for him to follow, then turned and locked her office door behind them both. Holding her keys, she lifted her chin and led the way out of the building. When they reached the parking lot, Jughead hesitated.

Betty glanced back at him, wondering why he was stopping. When he met her gaze, he said, “I rode my bike here.”

She wasn’t surprised--a lot of her clients lost their transportation during their time in prison, unable to make the payments. She couldn’t exactly imagine Jughead bicycling around town, but she supposed that he was doing what he needed to do in order to remain on parole and in good standing. Betty glanced over at her car. “I can drive,” she offered, fingers tightening on her keys.

Jughead shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. “I do have an extra helmet, but that’s up to you. I don’t mind either way.”

Betty blinked, briefly unable to imagine why Jughead would bring two bicycle helmets with him. Then she glanced around the parking lot and noticed a motorcycle parked near the entrance. Feeling immediately foolish, she realized what he was talking about.

“Oh,” she said. “Maybe another day, Jughead.” No point in telling him that she’d never ridden on a motorcycle before, not when she was still trying to forge the bonds of trust they would need to successfully make it through the program.

He followed her over to her little sedan, opening the passenger seat and waiting patiently while she scooped the small stack of books that had been there into her lap. Just as Betty was twisting to throw them into the back seat, Jughead reached over and took them instead. His fingers brushed hers as they slid around the books, sending a physical shiver up her arms as she had a brief impression of warm calloused skin.

His blue eyes picked over the spines, an amused smile playing over his lips. “Never thought you’d be a mystery fan,” he said, looking over the small collection of broken-in paperbacks.

Betty turned the key in the ignition so that she’d have an excuse not to look at him (or blush). As she backed out of her spot, she said, “Why is that?”

Jughead glanced over at her, thumbing open the book that had been on the top of the stack. “I don’t know, I just had the impression that you were more of a Nicholas Sparks kind of girl.”

She wasn’t surprised that he’d made such an assumption about her. Betty knew that she had never changed her aesthetic after high school--soft pinks and ponytails...definitely someone who looked like she was going to beeline straight for the romance isle. With a wry smile, putting on her turn signal, she said, “I bet it wouldn’t surprise you to know that my favorite books as a kid were Nancy Drew.”

He nodded appreciatively, setting the book back down on the stack. “Ah, yes, it makes sense now.”

Betty turned into the parking lot of the shopping plaza she’d been thinking of, finding a spot right in front of the deli she liked to sometimes go to for lunch. Looking over at Jughead, she said, “I hope this is okay. I didn’t have lunch yet, and I’m not sure if you ate, but I thought it could be my treat if you didn’t mind joining me.”

His eyebrows rose. Unbuckling his belt and sliding the books onto the floor of the passenger seat, Jughead grumbled, “I’m not poor, Betty. I can buy my own lunch.”

Oh, right. He didn’t like being in anyone’s debt, she remembered. Feeling again like she’d tripped over her own feet, Betty swallowed her anxiety and focused on deciding what she’d order. She came to this place often enough that she knew most of the menu, and they had a coconut shrimp salad that never failed to make her mouth water.

She got in line behind an older gentleman, fishing her wallet out of her purse. Glancing over her shoulder at Jughead, she said, “I really don’t mind, Jug. You can get the next one, if you want.”

Whether it was her reassurance that he could pay her back later, or the way she shortened his name, something about his expression softened at her words. With a short nod, he looked back up at the menu over the counter. Betty allowed herself an extra moment to take in the way his jaw curved up toward his ear, a fuzzy image forming in her mind as she helplessly imagined how warm and soft that skin would feel against her lips. Turning away before she could blush again, she realized that her mouth was tingling. Betty resolutely dug her chapstick out of her purse and slid it over her lips. At least Jughead wasn’t aware of the things she was thinking, she consoled herself inwardly.

They approached the counter. “What will it be?” the young cashier asked cheerfully, recognizing Betty. 

“A small coconut shrimp salad,” she requested. “And an iced tea, please. Unsweetened.”

The cashier dutifully punched the proper keys on the register, looking over at Jughead. “And for your boyfriend?” he asked casually.

Betty immediately turned fifty shades of red, only slightly less mortified when she saw that Jughead’s complexion had also betrayed his embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not dating yet,” he said--and then his eyes widened as he realized his slip, his face looking like he was praying that the earth would swallow him whole. Looking anywhere but at Betty, he sputtered, “I mean, at all. We aren’t like that. Uh, I’ll have a club sandwich, thanks. And a soda.”

The cashier looked horrified at their embarrassment as well. “I’m so sorry,” he said, also blushing. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Betty heard herself squeak, “It’s fine.”

“It’s 22.53,” the cashier said, eyes trained on the register. Betty thrust her card forward without meeting anyone’s eyes. When the cashier handed it back with her receipt, he said, “You can pick up your order at the end of the table. I’m so sorry, I hope you both have a good day.”

She was already turning away as she tucked her wallet back into her purse. It was no use--her face felt hotter than the sun. Without looking directly at Jughead, she said, “I’m just going to use the restroom. Would you mind finding us a table?”

Before he could agree, Betty let her legs carry her off. Once she was safely behind the locked door of the ladies’ room, she took a shaky breath. Walking to the sink, she let herself grip the edges of the porcelain as she regarded her blotchy red face in the mirror. 

“Get it together, Betty,” she commanded herself sternly. _Your professional reputation is everything, Elizabeth._ Yes, she knew that a reputation took a lifetime to build and a moment to destroy. She absolutely didn’t need any rumors circulating the office that she’d begun seeing one of her clients. Tomorrow, she’d choose a place much farther away, so that no one saw them together. Permission or not, this was how rumors started.

And what about Jughead’s little Freudian slip? Before Betty let herself ponder _that_ , she cranked on the faucet and leaned down to splash a little cold water over her face. Dampening a paper towel, she held it against the front and back of her neck for a few moments, until she was satisfied that she didn’t look sunburnt any more.

A tiny voice deep within the recesses of her subconscious was whispering that what he’d said meant that he _liked her_. It wasn’t something about Betty making him uncomfortable, it was something about the office, like she’d thought. Her hypothesis was confirmed. If Jughead accidentally admitted that they weren’t dating _yet_ , it meant that he was hoping they would do so _eventually_. Or at least thinking of her in that way. The word “yet” was circulating through her mind like a one-syllable parade, ingraining itself deep into her consciousness and slicing straight through the cortexes she’d reserved for professional conduct. Now Betty was forced to admit to herself that she was deeply pleased to uncover what Jughead had been thinking, since she’d been so worried that her thoughts concerning the attraction she felt for him were bordering on creepy. 

The largest of the many problems she had to deal with concerning this situation, however, was going back out there and facing him without turning as red as a Christmas bulb. Betty looked into her own sharp green eyes in the mirror, letting herself glare a little for good measure. Be professional, and keep it together, she willed herself. Be _professional_.

She made sure that her mascara wasn’t running and she didn’t have water droplets all over her chin before she turned and unlocked the door. A quick scan of the restaurant’s small seating area was all it took to find Jughead. It appeared he’d picked up their food while she had her small bathroom breakdown, as two trays and two cups were sitting on the round table in front of him. 

Betty stopped briefly on her way across the restaurant to grab a few napkins, a plastic fork, and a straw from the condiment bar next to the counter. Fixing her best Cooper smile in place, she slid into the seat across from her client.

Jughead didn’t meet her eyes when she sat down, quickly taking a bite of his sandwich instead. That was perfectly fine with Betty. She drizzled half a cup of her dressing over her salad, gave the whole thing a little stir with her fork, and took a bite herself.

He’d glanced over curiously when she prepared her food, eyes lingering on the half-full dressing cup for a moment. She glanced at it too--he probably wasn’t aware that the dressing was usually the most unhealthy part of the dish, something her mother had never once let her forget while she was growing up. Without saying what she was certain the foodie in him wanted to say, he took another bite.

“So,” she said, bravely cutting through the silence. “Is this better than the office?”

Jughead’s eyes flew to hers and he involuntarily gulped, frowning briefly as he struggled to keep himself from choking. Taking a sip of his soda, he said, “In a way, yeah. Thanks for doing this.”

She knew exactly what he meant by _in a way_ , but she chose to completely ignore the elephant in the room. They continued their lunch in relative silence, both too embarrassed to talk about much of anything. Betty still counted the experiment as a success, though. As she drove Jughead back to the office parking lot, her eyes fixed on the road, she said, “Your choice for lunch tomorrow, if you’d prefer to keep meeting this way.”

He nodded, looking out the window rather than meeting her eyes. “How should I let you know what I decide?” he asked.

As she put the car in park, she pressed her lips together. In any other situation, if they’d met any other way, the answer would be simple. That word from earlier, _yet_ , rang through her mind again like a song on repeat. She straightened, minutely squaring her shoulders to boost her confidence, and she said, “Give me your phone.”

Blue eyes glanced curiously over at her from beneath that tantalizing curl of dark hair, questioning what she was doing. Still, he unlocked his cell phone and passed it over. She made her way into his contacts and added her number, clicking save. Without trying to look at anything else on his phone, she hit the home button and passed it over. Unintentionally, her mind registered that his background was an image of a bookshelf--not a girlfriend, as she’d expected. Jughead took his phone back, and Betty tried not to notice the way her stomach clenched again as his fingers accidentally brushed hers.

“Just text me,” she said, to explain herself. In an effort to make a joke, she added, “I trust you not to spread my number around the criminal underground, though.”

Did she imagine the fierce way he seemed to breathe, “Never,” in response? More loudly, he joked, “I’ve never had a girl give me _her_ number before, I have to admit.”

Betty arched an eyebrow, clicking the button on her key fob to lock her car. “I find that surprising,” she commented, the words slipping out before she could stop them. As she rushed back into the building before her face could reignite, she saw an immensely satisfied grin spread over his face.

On Thursday, they met in a burger joint down the road from the deli. Betty ordered a small salad and a cup of the house chowder, while Jughead ate a burger she was certain must have been twice the size of the natural human stomach. Amused, she teased, “Where do you put it?”

“It’s a talent, Betty,” he replied easily. 

Without any embarrassing episodes there, she got him to discuss some of his friends. Including, for the first time, a few that she was fairly certain were a part of the gang that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. As he spoke of people with names like _Fangs_ and _Sweet Pea_ , a lightness came over his face that she felt like she never would have seen in her office. Obviously, these were people that he cared about deeply.

She chalked it up as another successful meeting, filling another page of notes after she returned to the office. 

On Friday morning at eight, her phone dinged promptly with a message from Jughead, as she was coming to expect. Betty glanced over at the phone on the edge of her vanity, lowering the brush from her cheek as her brows dipped. Today was _her_ day to choose their lunch spot, or did he forget? 

Unlocking the screen, she felt her lungs constrict as she read his message.

_Hey B, want to see a movie today instead? My treat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be one of my favorite chapters in this story. :D 
> 
> Please comment and tell me what you thought~
> 
> Also, Evie made an aesthetic for this story! I'm so excited, she found the perfect pictures to capture the two of them, and the quotes fit Jughead and Betty so well. Go and see it! :)
> 
>  
> 
> <http://moon--mama.tumblr.com/post/175236267025/cacti-evie-honey-and-smoke-i-got-bored-last>  
> 


	4. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone again for your support! So I have spent a shameful amount of the summer so far obsessing over Bughead...but I still finished my literature class with an A! It's the first graduate-level class I've ever taken, so I'm super proud about it. AND my professor actually gave real constructive feedback on my work! I hate it when you spend hours pouring your soul into an assignment and all you get back is "Great work!" So you can ask me about early 20th century American realism now (so useful, I know) :P

On Friday, Betty met Jughead outside the theater. It was her _job_ to be friendly while she helped him get back on his feet, she reasoned. She’d remembered during the drive that it was the theater he worked at, too. That put her even more at ease--investigating the place where he worked would only improve their sessions and give them more to talk about. Knowing that he’d been working there before his arrest, she wasn’t totally surprised when he waved her through the side entrance and half-smuggled her into an empty theater.

“Okay, is this when I get murdered?” she asked teasingly, regarding his behavior.

“No,” he snapped, looking a little frustrated. “I just thought...well, I’ll show you. Sit wherever you want, I’ll be right back.”

As he dashed away, Betty stood among the empty rows in a semi-daze. She looked around, noticing the well-worn fabric of the seats and the bits of popcorn that littered the ground like confetti, and realized that it had been years since she’d gone to see a movie in theaters. Focused on her career, going out by herself just never occurred to her after she got home from work. Veronica preferred to meet for brunch or make spa appointments together, so she was never eager to go to the movies, either.

Betty jumped slightly as the general lights dimmed like a movie was about to begin. Quickly choosing a seat near the center of the theater, she had just settled herself as the studio logo flashed across the screen. Jughead reappeared and dropped into the seat next to her, just a little out of breath.

“What--”

“Shush,” he said with a glance in her direction. Betty blinked and looked back at the screen, realizing that the film he seemed to have started himself was an old black and white movie. 

Lowering her voice and leaning over so that he would hear her, she said, “What movie is this?”

Jughead’s expression wasn’t irritated...maybe _exasperated_ was a better description. Betty drew her lip between her teeth anxiously before he nodded toward the screen. “Double Indemnity,” he read, as the title card flashed. “You didn’t even make it ten seconds into the movie. Are you one of those people who talks the whole time?” Before she could answer, he added, “Because I don’t think we can be friends if you are.”

In response, Betty crossed her arms and resolutely closed her mouth, looking back at the screen. The corner of Jughead’s mouth turned up in a smile, and he focused on the screen too.

After they watched the mystery play out on the big screen, Jughead got up and disappeared again. He’d been a perfect gentleman during the movie, keeping his hands completely to himself (though Betty couldn’t stop herself from imagining over and over again what it would feel like to slip her fingers between his in the dark). She reminded herself sternly that she was here with a _job_ to do, and letting her mind get carried away with romantic fantasies that could never happen with her client wasn't doing her good in any way. She glanced behind her, up at the little window of the projection booth. The house lights came on, temporarily and painfully bright, and she blinked as she tried to make her eyes adjust. Moments later, the client in question came walking around the corner at the front of the theater, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“How did you set this up?” she asked curiously, knowing that a mid-century movie wasn’t likely the sort of thing that a small town movie theater would have lying around.

Jughead shrugged. “Movies are all digital now, Betty. I just clicked play.” His deep blue eyes were evaluating her hesitantly as he said, “What did you think?”

“Well, I’ve read the book,” Betty replied instantly. “The film really did it justice, I thought. I don’t usually watch the movie adaptation if I’ve read the novel, and it’s been a little while, but from what I remember it was pretty good.”

He was nodding as she spoke, looking a little relieved. “I thought you might like film noir, since I saw the books in your car,” Jughead admitted.

He pushed open the side door he’d waved her in earlier, both of them blinking as they readjusted to the daylight. Betty glanced down at her phone and saw that they were well over their appointment time--luckily, she hadn’t scheduled anything that afternoon, since she wasn’t sure how long the movie would be. Thinking that they should at least do a _little_ business while she was there, she looked up just as he was thumbing a lighter to life and tilting his head to angle the cigarette between his lips into the flame. 

Betty couldn’t stop herself from wrinkling her nose.

Inhaling briefly, Jughead’s mouth released a small cloud of smoke before he noticed her reaction. Eyebrows rising, he used two fingers to move the cigarette away from his mouth like he was going to say something.

“How have things been going with Officer Blossom?” Betty said quickly, forcing herself to recover. They were standing on a sidewalk, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t like he’d walked into the middle of a playground and lit a cigarette. She admonished herself inwardly for letting him see her reaction, knowing that there was no better way to alienate someone than by openly judging their bad habits. 

Since Betty was thinking of work (rather than imagining how it would feel to slip her hands under his leather jacket and actually feel those abs), she let herself quickly scan the faces of the people who were coming or going around them as they walked toward the parking lot. So far, no one that would misconstrue anything back at the office.

Jughead still seemed to be thinking about her response to his smoking. “I’ll put it out if it bothers you,” he commented, frowning and completely ignoring the question about his parole officer.

Betty shook her head. “No, you’re fine,” she replied quickly. Back to business, she resolutely told herself. “But Jug--”

He twisted the cigarette into the ashy lid of a trash can as they walked past. Glancing over at her with a half-smirk, he said, “I can always get more if I want them, it’s okay.” Seeing the smug look on his face, Betty suspected that being able to casually waste cigarettes--knowing that he could get more whenever he liked--was one of the privileges he enjoyed most about being outside of prison.

With that realization, more of her professional duties came rushing back to her. Before she could stop herself, Betty blurted, “Have you ever tried quitting?”

Jughead’s arm brushed against hers as they turned down the row where she’d left her car. Quickly, he pushed his unoccupied hands into his pockets. “A few times,” he admitted. “Especially when I ran out of commissary money.” Without prompting, he added, “But my parents both smoked when I was a kid. I guess it’s just something that relaxes me.”

She couldn’t help feeling like he’d disclosed that bit for her benefit, before she had to prompt him for more information. Nodding in understanding, she replied, “I hear that a lot, actually. It doesn’t bother me, really, I was just surprised. Since we’re out of the office, you’re welcome to smoke in our meetings if you want to.”

Jughead surprised her by laughing shortly. “I can live a few hours without a cigarette, it’s not a problem.” His deep blue eyes met hers, and when she saw the way that they were smiling, a traitorous flutter rolled through her stomach. “I’ve really only known you a few days, but I can tell that you’re serious about health stuff.”

Feeling like she was being drawn into his gaze, Betty heard herself saying, “It’s just the way my mom raised me. I kind of like seeing you smoke, actually.”

They’d reached her car, but she hadn’t realized it. Jughead stopped behind the trunk, turning toward her. As her words echoed through her mind, Betty started cursing herself. At least he looked like he was still laughing inwardly at her.

“Oh really?” he drawled, his mouth turning up in that crooked, devastating smile that melted her knees. “Noted.”

If she was any other person, if _he_ was any other person, Betty was almost entirely sure that they would be kissing now. Her lips were tingling restlessly again, and when he flicked his tongue across his she realized that she was staring a little. 

Before she could formulate anything remotely professional to say, Jughead leaned casually against the back of her car and said, “If you’re really not as dedicated to health stuff as you say you are, then why don’t you let me take you to the best diner in town for a _real_ burger?” With a teasing note in his voice, he added, “Tomorrow. Saturday. Since you’re only a vegetarian on Mondays.”

Her brain burst into fireworks as she realized that he’d remembered such a trivial detail from the conversation they’d had at the beginning of the week. Even though Betty couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to eat something as greasy as a burger, she found herself nodding. “Okay,” she said, her voice coming out much more breathy than she’d expected. 

Not, _let’s meet at this diner I know_ , or even _can we get dinner tomorrow instead of lunch_ , he’d specifically said, _let me take you_. As in, he wanted to take her somewhere. Like a date.

Oh god--was it a date? Panic ripped through her as she realized that he hadn’t explicitly said so. Nevermind the moral and ethical implications of dating one of her clients--if Weatherbee so much as suspected that Betty was involved with Jughead in any way, he’d be taken off her caseload. Or worse--removed from the program _and sent back to prison for the rest of his sentence_. 

He couldn’t have meant that he wanted to take her on a date. Absolutely not. Even in college, Betty had always suspected that she was unattractive or off-putting in some way. She’d gone on a few dates, usually set up by Veronica, but most of them had fizzled quickly. Not once in her life had she ever been in a situation where she wasn’t sure if someone had meant to ask her out, either. Generally she was either ignored, or asked directly (and then dismissed after going out a few times, once she indicated that she wasn’t willing to quickly get physical). 

Clutching her keys, she fumbled to unlock her car with the fob and looked anywhere but back at his eyes. She could still feel him watching her as his somewhat husky voice said, “Meet me here and I’ll drive you. I get off at five.”

Her heart skipped wildly in her chest at those words. Not only were they going on an ambiguous maybe-date, but he was going to drive her… _on his motorcycle_. 

As soon as the car door was closed, she looked in the rear-view mirror to see Jughead walking casually back to the theater. Betty almost dove for her purse when it hit the passenger seat, her fingers scrambling to find her phone. As it rang, she felt like her stomach was competing with her lungs for space inside her body.

“V, it’s me. I have to talk to you, like now,” she paused, listening to the person on the other end. “No, I’m okay. Well, sort of. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come straight there.”

Veronica happened to be in the middle of a pedicure, as luck would have it. Betty felt slightly out of breath as she jabbed her finger on the laminated sheet at the front desk, choosing a package for herself. She hardly looked at the bottle of nail polish as she snatched it off the shelf, only vaguely registering that it was some sort of red. As she took the empty chair next to Veronica, her friend lowered her reading glasses and closed her magazine on her lap. 

“Betty, you look like you’ve just spent the weekend with your mother,” she commented, her brows coming together in concern. “Tell me everything.”

Plunging her feet into the hot spa water, Betty didn’t even wince at the temperature. Instead, she turned to Veronica and let the words gush out of her mouth like a busted water main. Veronica, to her credit, didn’t interrupt until Betty reached the proposition that Jughead made that afternoon by her car. 

She raised one hand, her eyes shut and her brows knitted together in distress. “I don’t even know where to start with this,” she muttered, as soon as Betty stopped. “I think I’m going to need a full spa service just to work the tension out of my neck again. B, darling, you’re trying to kill me.” Her dark eyes met Betty’s. Drawing a long, shaky breath, she summarized, “You’ve gotten entangled with one of the ne'er do wells that daddy sentenced. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would have to worry about you developing an unhealthy taste for bad boys.”

Betty chose to ignore Veronica’s slight admonishment, instead asking, “Is it a date, V? What do you think?”

Veronica shook her head. “Absolutely not. Or, I think we should both hope it’s not, for your sake.”

She felt her heart sinking, and Betty was forced to quickly question herself. Did she _want_ it to be a date? Unable to fully form an answer at that moment, she looked helplessly over at her best friend. “What should I do?” she asked, feeling like her eyes were working overtime to convey her conflicting internal emotions. Veronica clicked her tongue in response, shaking her head again.

“Treat it like work, Betty. Do what you do best and help him get his life on track. And if he tries anything...just remind him that your professional responsibilities come first.” She paused pointedly, arching one eyebrow. “I’ve heard you deliver that speech before, you know. To Chuck, remember? Sophomore year? You utterly crushed his hopes, B. You’re focused and driven, and you’ve worked hard to get to where you are now. Don’t let this… _criminal_ ruin everything for you.”

She sighed deeply. Of course, she remembered exactly who Veronica was talking about. That might have been the only time that her friend had heard her turn someone down because of her dedication to her studies, but Betty knew that she’d delivered that speech more times than she could count. Much as she wanted to protest that Jughead hardly behaved like a _criminal_ , Betty knew that Veronica was right. Regardless of how he acted, he was freshly released from a year in prison. And Betty had seen other things in his file that indicated there was more to him than met the eye--like the list of tattoos and scars that she objectively knew must be hidden beneath those tantalizing t-shirts. 

“You’re right,” she muttered to Veronica. 

Her friend straightened in her chair, a smile playing over her lips. “Of course, Betty. I always am,” she almost purred. “And if you’re this starved for attention, then maybe you’ll reconsider meeting that dreamboat I was telling you about. Reggie?”

Betty had about as much interest in going on another Veronica-arranged date as she did in shaving her head. But she made herself nod in response, trying to ignore the note of longing she'd noticed in Jughead's deep blue eyes, which she kept seeing whenever she pressed hers shut. She left the salon feeling less conflicted, sure, but physically even more nervous than before. Actually, Betty felt so nervous that she purposely skipped dinner on Friday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS IT A DATE? Poor Betty...the jury says probably, because how smug was Jughead. 
> 
> Again, my lovely beta readers Evie and Squids helped me out with this chapter! They are the best. :) 
> 
> I so appreciate seeing your comments, you have no idea. It makes me smile in real life whenever the notifications come up. <3


	5. Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the slightly late update today, I've got family visiting from out of town. Thank you, everyone, for your continued support of this story! It's been very fun to work on. :)
> 
> And thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Evie and Squids! They have been so helpful in providing feedback regarding legal processes and characterization and all manner of things. <3

Saturday morning, she wasn’t feeling any better. Trying to loosen up the tension gripping her body and clear her mind, she decided to go for a run, but it hardly helped. Whenever the sound of a motorcycle roaring down the road next to the park cut through the music in her headphones, she couldn’t stop herself from turning to look after it, trying to get a glimpse of the driver. Her usual upbeat workout mix wasn’t helping either, and she ripped her ear buds out of her ears halfway through her usual route in frustration. Why did it feel like every song on her playlist had something to do with love?

She went through her cool-down stretches and walked back to her townhouse. It was an end unit in a nice community, where her HOA fees covered the landscaping. Betty particularly liked the way that the gardening crew meticulously planted flowers in the beds between the units--especially because her gardening abilities didn’t extend much further than the care of a few houseplants she’d bought because the internet said they were _difficult to kill_. She loved the proximity to the park, and her neighbors were hardly obtrusive. The mortgage was less than local rent for an equivalent space, too. Plus, Betty thought her curtains looked cute in the windows.

That afternoon, she tried to read. But inexplicably--maybe for the first time in her life--she found her eyes going over the same line time after time without any idea of what it had said. 

The closer that the clock marched to five, the more she felt like her stomach was about to climb out of her throat. With a physical jolt, she realized that she’d forgotten to eat that morning, too. Betty shoved her bookmark into her novel and set it down on her coffee table, going into her kitchen to find something small for a snack. If Jughead expected her to eat a burger, tonight, then she couldn’t fill up now.

She found some yogurt at the back of her fridge and tore it open, stirring up the contents before she shoved a spoonful into her mouth. It was gone before she knew it, and she tossed the container into the trash before she set the dirty spoon next to her sink.

Around four o’clock, Betty pulled on a soft cream sweater with a rolled collar and a fringe of lace along the hem. She slipped into a pair of slate skinny jeans that zipped along her left hip, choosing a pair of sensible flats to complete her ensemble. Just because it was something she would usually do, she chose a pair of golden earrings from her jewelry box and fastened them on her ears. Looking in the mirror, she smoothed her hair into her most professional ponytail, looping the tie securely in place. 

When she put on her makeup, it wasn’t anything outside of her usual look. She brushed pink blush over her cheeks, carefully applied her mascara, and then slid a layer of lipstick over her lips. Collecting her purse from the small table beside the front door, she made sure to lock her home behind herself before she walked toward her parking spot.

As she drove over to the theater, where Jughead planned to meet her, she restlessly turned off her radio. Again, it seemed like every song that played was focused on nothing but romance--either finding it, or losing it. Driving in silence, she focused on her breathing and kept willing her writhing stomach to settle down.

Jughead was leaning against his motorcycle at the front of the parking lot when she pulled in. The theater seemed packed, since it was early evening on a Saturday night, but Betty quickly found a spot and got out of her car. As she walked toward Jughead, her face involuntarily broke into a smile.

He was holding out a helmet for her, that intense blue gaze unwavering as she approached. At least, with the helmet on her head, she’d be less recognizable as they drove around town. His most flirtatious smile returned to his face when she neared. Betty didn’t let herself falter, but she took a brief moment to sternly remind herself that she was going to stick strictly to business. Veronica was right, about everything. She always was.

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” Jughead asked as she took the helmet. Betty glanced up and saw that he looked as if he were quietly laughing at her already. With another overwhelming twist of nerves in her stomach, she briefly shook her head. “It’s easy, nothing to worry about. Just hold on and lean with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She’d never believed someone so implicitly in her life. Betty fit the helmet over her head, a tiny voice inside herself briefly wondering what was wrong with her. In her whole life, she’d never imagined that she would be doing something like this with someone like _him_.

As the motorcycle roared to life, Betty drew in a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. That turned out to be a mistake, as this was the closest to Jughead she’d ever been, and she ended up drowning in the intoxicating smell of him. The tang of smoke was prominent, of course, but at this proximity she could also discern a sort of muskier spice that seemed to be uniquely _Jughead_. It did something to her mind--or maybe that sudden dream-like haze was because of the way she’d been forced to throw her arms around his waist as he eased the bike forward. Suddenly she could think of nothing but burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing that scent in forever.

She was glad that she was behind him, at least, so that he wouldn’t see her blushing again. Betty watched as they sped through town, heading away from the downtown district where the theater was located and toward the outskirts. Jughead’s body was warm under her arms, despite the chill of the spring air. Betty realized too late that she should have brought a coat, as she let herself bury her hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. She felt Jughead stiffen a little, but he must have realized that she was cold because he soon pulled over.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,” he muttered, unzipping his jacket as soon as he’d stopped the motorcycle. 

Betty was already shaking her head as he slid his arms out of the sleeves. “No, I should have realized, it’s my fault. Keep your jacket on,” she protested.

She might as well have been talking to herself. Jughead twisted so that he could hand the jacket over, giving her a pointed look. “We’re almost there, but I’m not going to let you freeze to death, Betty.”

Something about the tone of his voice left no room for argument. Meekly, she took the jacket and slid herself inside, zipping it up. It was far too big for her, but she found herself enveloped in a sort of heaven. The jacket was still warm from Jughead’s body, and though it smelled strongly of leather (of course), it also smelled like _him_. She squeaked, “Thank you,” to him before he revved the engine, her arms sliding back into place around his t-shirt clad abdomen.

This might have been worse than freezing, because she was now acutely aware of the abs she’d only imagined before. A coil of something decidedly wicked turned below her stomach. Betty squeezed her eyes closed and held on, hoping that he hadn’t been understating the distance to the diner.

It was in one of the rougher parts of town, she noticed immediately. A few lights were knocked out, and the cars in the parking lot looked all the worse for wear. Belatedly, Betty realized that though it was unlikely she would run into a coworker here, she would probably cross paths with some of her _clients_. What was the name of the place that Boulder was working at? Her head spinning from the ride, she struggled to remember as she slid off the back of the bike and handed Jughead his helmet.

Her fingers rose to the zipper of the jacket, and he smirked. “Keep it on, if you’re still cold,” he said.

No, no, no, no, no, screamed Betty’s mind. That would _not_ be a professional thing to do. As she struggled to find the right thing to say, she unconsciously reached up and straightened her ponytail. Something about that familiar act helped ground her, a little. She unzipped the jacket and held it out for its owner. “I’m okay,” Betty insisted.

Jughead shrugged, the corner of his mouth rising. “Your loss,” he replied, taking it back.

And it was a loss indeed, because she was suddenly both without the jacket’s warmth and Jughead’s scent. Maybe he would make her wear it again on the way home, she consoled herself.

They entered the diner and he led her to a booth toward one side. Betty noticed uncomfortably that a long horizontal row of windows ringed more than half of the establishment, except where she assumed the kitchens were located. Anyone who pulled into the parking lot would be able to see who was eating inside. She reasoned that it would be best to eat quickly, so they could leave before she was seen.

Jughead slid her a menu after they sat down, a distinctly cat-like grin spreading over his face as he flipped it open for her. “Okay, make sure you order something real this time. Pretty much everything here is amazing, I promise,” he said. She looked decidedly toward the portion of the menu dedicated to salads, and he wrinkled his nose. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever tried those, so I’m not sure. You’d better stick to stuff like chili cheese fries and burgers.”

Raising one eyebrow, she replied teasingly, “Why did you give me a menu if you were going to order for me?”

He sighed heavily, holding up the palms of his hands. “If I’ve learned anything about you this week, Betty, it’s that you can’t be trusted to choose good food.”

She laughed genuinely, her stomach untwisting just a little. “Really?” she asked, narrowing her eyes in mock offense. “And what else have you learned about me?”

The look he gave her in return dried the laughter up in her throat. Those deep blue eyes met hers, conveying the gravity of whatever he was about to say in response. Betty’s heart fluttered wildly, and she leaned forward without realizing it, waiting to hear what he had to say. Just as Jughead opened his perfect mouth, a waitress approached the end of the table.

“If it isn’t Jughead Jones,” she purred, raising one eyebrow and tapping her pen against her order pad. “I heard they let you out of prison, but I knew it had to be a lie because you’d obviously come here and tell me yourself as soon as it happened, right?”

The moment was broken, for now. Betty looked over at the woman who spoke, immediately noticing her curling pink hair. She was chewing a piece of gum and looking directly at Jughead, a smile playing across her lips. He grinned widely back, turning to look at her. Betty picked up from his body language that they knew each other well, and a tiny voice inside her immediately wondered _how_. 

He glanced at Betty. “Cover your ears?” he tried, shrugging apologetically. When she tilted her head in confusion and frowned at him, he turned back to the waitress. “They let me out on parole, Toni. For right now, pretend you don’t even know me. In another year, we’ll talk.”

She snorted shortly, amused. “Right,” she muttered. “Does Sweet Pea know?”

Jughead glanced over at Betty again and mimed putting his fingers in his ears. Starting to understand what was happening here, she raised both eyebrows. “Confidentiality,” she whispered, bringing the pads of her fingers together and resting her elbows on the table in her best psychologist pose. 

Amused by her reaction, he looked back at the waitress. “Probably,” he replied. “My plan was to leave things the way they are for a while and avoid trouble as long as possible.”

Betty made a mental note. Maybe they should come to sketchy diners where he knew the waitstaff more often, she thought ruefully. He was sharing more information about his plan for the future with Toni in this ten minute conversation than he’d shared with his case manager in a week. She held still, listening intently.

Toni glanced over at Betty, chewing her gum with an audible crack. Shifting her focus back to Jughead, she said, “Whatever you say, J. You’re the boss.”

If a flicker of something passed over his face, Betty didn’t see enough to recognize what it was. Instead, he straightened and looked over at her, grumbling, “If you say so, Toni. Even after all this time, you’re still a shitty waitress. Are you ever going to take our orders?”

Pressing her lips together, eyes flashing, Toni smacked him over the head with her order pad. Turning to Betty, she said, “What can I get you? And don’t worry--I’ll make sure I only spit in _his_ food.”

Jughead was laughing at the way she’d attacked him. At that, he shook his head and met Betty’s eyes, quickly saying, “No, Betty, she’s joking, they won’t spit in anyone’s food. Right, Toni?”

The waitress glared. She turned back to Betty with an exaggerated smile, holding her pen over the pad and raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Betty didn’t need to be told twice. “I guess I’m getting a burger and chili cheese fries,” she said, closing her menu. “Any chance that the chili and cheese can come on the side?”

As Toni said, “Yes,” Jughead said, “No.”

The waitress shot him another dirty look. 

Betty broke the tension and said, “And a strawberry milkshake, too? Do you make those with lowfat milk?”

Toni nodded, taking notes. When she turned to Jughead, she muttered, “Where did you find this one, J? You want your usual?”

He smirked. “She’s my case manager,” he replied. “And yes, please. Hold the spit.”

Toni glanced back at Betty one last time. “Lucky man,” she commented, before making her way over to the counter and sliding their ticket into the kitchen window. 

As soon as she was gone, Betty looked sharply at Jughead. “What’s this about talking in a year?” she asked pointedly, all business. “How about talking again _never_ and staying out of _prison_ , Jughead?”

His eyes turned toward the counter that Toni had retreated behind, just for a second. “We aren’t having this conversation here.” Betty wondered where they might ever have it, but she pressed her mouth closed and looked out the window rather than arguing.

When the food arrived, Betty was alarmed to see the size of the massive burger. Covered in all the toppings, just as Jughead liked it, she was certain that the only way she’d be able to eat it was by unhinging her jaw. It didn’t help that the mountain of chili cheese fries--which was delivered with the chili and cheese on top, she noted dryly, like he really _was_ the boss--was almost as large as the burger. And the milkshake, when it arrived, looked like the equivalent of a pint of ice cream.

Jughead smirked and popped a fry into his mouth from the edge of her plate.

“There’s no way any human being can eat all of this,” she protested, looking up at him in slight horror.

He leaned back and said three words: “I dare you.”

Though she knew it was juvenile, and she would absolutely regret it later, Betty felt a steely resolve spread through her mind. Maintaining eye contact, she picked up one of the gooey fries and slid it into her mouth.

Not a full hour later, as they were walking across the parking lot toward Jughead’s motorcycle, Betty felt the entire world shift beneath her feet. The way her stomach had been twisting all day--which she’d _thought_ was nerves--turned out to be very unappreciative of chili cheese fries, a burger, and strawberry milkshake. She had about a half minute of warning before she dashed quickly for the bushes and heaved.

Jughead, to his credit, simply came over and held her ponytail away from her mouth. Forget that she’d spent a week battling internally against fantasies where she ripped off his clothes with her teeth. Not once in her life had Betty ever done something so vile in front of a guy, no matter who he was, and she was wishing right now that whatever bug she’d caught would kill her quickly so that she wouldn’t have to live long with the embarrassment. When she finally straightened and ran a shaking hand over her mouth, Jughead took a step back too.

His hand rose to the back of his neck anxiously. “Shit,” he said, looking apologetic, like he’d accidentally hurt her in some way. Maybe, given his dare, he thought that he had. His hand went out like he wanted to put it on her shoulder, but Betty quickly moved back. Her mind was a monologue of _kill me now_ going out to every deity she could think of. Jughead stared at her helplessly in response. “Do you live far from here? Let me take you home.”

Though alarm bells were screeching through her mind at the idea of a client knowing where she lived, Betty’s body gave another slight heave and she knew that he was just trying to be kind. With an air of resignation, she told him her address. 

Jughead draped his jacket over her shoulders without asking, giving her one stern look when she opened her mouth to protest. Feeling like death, Betty simply zipped it up. She slid into place behind him and held on as he drove toward her townhouse, closing her eyes and willing her body to stop rebelling against her. 

She’d never done something so unprofessional in her life. Tears pricked her eyes as they rode across town, and she considered offering to get Jughead a new case manager. Surely she’d been misleading him by taking him out to lunch rather than meeting in her office. And this evening had felt so fun and comfortable, so much like a date, before she’d ruined it. Veronica was _right_ , she needed to keep this professional and put her career before her feelings. Monday morning, she was going straight to Weatherbee to give him away before this got any more out of control than it already was.

Jughead parked in her spot, though he couldn’t have known that she’d unofficially claimed it. When her hand shook as she tried to fit her key into the lock, he wordlessly slid his fingers over hers and helped guide it into place. The warmth of his hand nearly melted her all over again, but as soon as they were inside she made a quick dash for the bathroom. Scrubbing her teeth almost violently, she spit into the sink and immediately began to rummage through the medicine cabinet for something over the counter that would alleviate her symptoms. 

Though she half-expected Jughead to leave while she was occupied, when she stepped out into her living room she was pleasantly surprised to find him spreading out a blanket on her couch. 

He looked up as she blinked in confusion. “Lay down,” he said, patting the pillow he’d propped on the arm of the couch. She realized distantly that it was _her_ pillow, which he must have taken from _her_ bed. Betty didn’t feel upset about the intrusion so much as she hoped that there weren’t any embarrassing dirty clothes lying around her room, though after throwing up in front of him she wasn’t sure what else she could possibly do to make herself any less attractive. With businesslike authority, Jughead regarded her and gestured again to the nest he’d made her.

Betty lay down on the couch, letting him draw the blanket over her shoulders. He clicked on the TV, which went automatically to the Netflix screen, and then leaned over to press the remote into her hand. “Put something on, I’m just going to get you some tea before I leave,” his voice said, so close to her ear that she felt his breath on her cheek. Betty couldn’t help it as her body shivered, and not because she was sick.

A few minutes later, as she listened to the clink of porcelain and the rush of water in her kitchen, Jughead reappeared with a mug of tea. He set it down on her coffee table, sliding over a coaster. Betty gratefully pushed herself up and had a sip, relaxing as the ginger made its way into her roiling stomach.

She glanced up at Jughead, who was leaning over the back of the couch again and looking at her with a concerned expression. “My mom always used to make me ginger tea when I was sick,” she said, a little surprised as she recognized the nostalgic taste. “How did you know?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Mine too,” he replied. “Lucky guess.”

Betty stifled a yawn, thinking again of the goal she’d had for the evening--the _professional_ goal, which she’d allowed to get completely sidetracked when she agreed to an eating competition _like a child_. 

“Are you close with your mom?” she asked, looking up at him.

Jughead’s blue eyes met hers, and he replied with a small shake of his head. “I know what you’re trying to do. Stop working, Betty. You’re sick. You can save me later.”

She would have replied, but the warmth of the blanket and the tea were double-timing to zap away the last of the energy in her body. As her eyes closed involuntarily, she must have dreamed that Jughead leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the best thing about my birthday being on a national holiday is that everyone has cookouts and festivals and fireworks, but I feel like it's also spoiled me and turned me into some sort of adult birthday princess who feels the need to decorate my house and festoon myself in flag-covered apparel and consume only holiday-themed beverages/sweets... it's like a blessing and a curse, because I'm sure that a non-holiday birthday would result in much less obligatory decorating and embarrassing Americana apparel.
> 
> Also, I can't resist writing some little drabbles for the Camp Bughead prompts, so those are floating around tumblr now too. You can check them through my AO3 account or follow me if you'd like, my main blog is moon--mama and I mostly share bughead stuff or literature quotes.
> 
> Again, I so appreciate your comments! Tell me what you thought about the "date" and Betty's unfortunate stomach bug! Also, how about that soft!Jughead? :)


	6. Talents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized as I replied to comments on the last chapter that I needed to clarify something: individuals on parole essentially sign a contract which is enforced by their parole officer. The terms of the contract are things such as agreeing not to leave the state, observing an 8PM-8AM curfew, agreeing not to possess any illegal substances, avoiding association with any known felons, etc. These terms are enforced by a parole officer (Officer Blossom), who can appear at any time to check the parolee's residence and make sure they are following the terms. The parole officer does not need a warrant to enter or search. If Jughead violates any of the terms of his parole, he can be sent back to prison for the remainder of his sentence. 
> 
> Squids has been super helpful in providing me with a lot of the legal ins and outs that make this story what it is. This story is set in New York, so that's been the basis for my research.

As sometimes happens when one is briefly sick, Betty woke up Sunday morning feeling almost completely better. The operative term was _almost_ , because her body still felt sore from emptying the contents of her stomach in front of a diner, and her head was pounding because of her naturally subsequent dehydration. 

She rose from her nest on the couch just long enough to make herself another cup of ginger tea, pouring in a liberal amount of honey, and she returned to the warmth of her spot. Then her eyes were drawn quickly over to the door when her mind started to replay memories of Jughead tucking her in last night. 

Oh god, she’d let him take her home. He knew where she lived, now. It was something that Betty had always been warned about, both in school and at the office. But her mind restlessly ran over the way he’d taken care of her last night, her eyes quickly verifying that he’d locked the door behind himself when he left. If he’d been intending to rob her, or attack her, or anything else, surely he would have done it last night when he’d had the chance. And Jughead wasn’t in prison because of a violent crime, she reminded herself. Just gang-related drug trafficking. Betty groaned out loud at her own attempt for reassurance...it wasn’t much better.

She chose a movie on Netflix just to have some noise in the house, sinking back down onto her pillow. As she lay there, she let her mind run over her fragmented thoughts from the night before.

After she threw up, she recalled considering getting Jughead another case manager. Betty decided quickly that the thought had been a symptom of her stomach bug. Last night had involved extenuating circumstances, from her perspective. And, before she’d gotten sick, she’d learned more about him than she had so far all week. If Betty could be a fly on the wall while Jughead spoke with that waitress, maybe her job would be a lot easier.

Which left her to consider the way she’d practically soared when he’d lent her his jacket, the way she’d imagined him kissing her goodnight, and the way she’d been so enamored with him lately that she’d mistaken flu symptoms for butterflies. 

None of these things were typical for Betty. Was she overworked? Was she losing her mind?

Her stomach rumbled beneath her blanket, and she sighed. After losing her dinner, and hardly eating the day before, Betty knew that she needed to find some breakfast. She made herself get up and lower a piece of bread into her toaster, thinking that it would probably be safer than her usual bowl of cereal. When she returned to the couch, she remained there until the movie ended. With a large yawn, she clicked through the suggestions until she found something a little more interesting to watch.

There was a knock at the door. Betty stood up, then realized that she was still wearing what she’d had on last night. Her ponytail was askew and mascara was smeared below her eyes. Wondering who would be coming by on a Saturday, since Veronica usually texted before she arrived, Betty unlocked the door.

She wasn’t expecting to find Jughead standing on her doorstep, holding a paper bag. When his eyes read the confusion on her face, he smiled easily. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to check on you. I’ve got the day off.”

Betty _knew_ that she should politely decline. She _knew_ that she should send him off, remind him that their relationship was strictly professional. Of course she knew these things...but that didn’t mean she wanted to do either. Instead, she looked at the bag. “What’s that?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob, still letting him stand outside.

Jughead glanced down. “Oh. I felt bad for almost killing you with fried food. So I thought I’d make you some chicken soup.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You can cook?” she asked, shocked.

He almost rolled his eyes at her. “Betty, I’m a grown man. Of course I can,” he replied. “Can I come in?”

Realizing that she was standing there, her front door hanging open just like her mouth, she pressed her lips together and stepped aside. Even when she’d been sick as a kid, no one had cooked soup for her before. Emotion stirred within her, making her feel suddenly so heartsick that she had to look away and blink to keep herself from tearing up. How was it that Jughead could be who he was, and be _this_ sweet?

When the door closed behind him, she turned the lock. Jughead went into the kitchen and unpacked his bag, putting a few items in the fridge for later. He checked the large pot that she left on the stove, probably making sure it was clean. Betty leaned against her kitchen island as she watched, feeling increasingly like she should do something to make herself a little more presentable.

Jughead glanced over at her. “I’ll make you some tea, if you want to go relax,” he offered.

Her heart swelled again at his kindness. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m going to take a quick shower. Help yourself to whatever you want around here, the remote is out there on the table.”

When she’d showered and washed away yesterday’s makeup, she wrapped herself in a towel and dashed over to her bedroom. Betty pulled on a plain tank top and a pair of black athletic shorts, slipping her recently pedicured feet into her fluffy white slippers. As a draft of cold air hit her, she pulled her jersey lilac robe around herself and tied it around her waist. Returning to the bathroom, she briefly contemplated her hair. Betty ran the blow dryer over it for a few minutes, just so that it wasn’t dripping any more, and left it as it was. Jughead had seen her at her worst the night before and he came back anyway--seeing her without her customary ponytail would hardly drive him away, it seemed.

She walked downstairs and found Jughead sitting in her living room, two mugs of tea on the table in front of him. He was flipping through her Netflix options and he glanced up as she came down the stairs. “It’s been a while since I saw what was on here,” he commented, looking back at the screen. “Archie and Fred have regular old cable. Looks like they added a lot in the past year...almost all the shows I watch have new seasons.”

Betty sat down on the couch next to him, picking up her mug of tea. Curiously, she said, “What shows do you watch?”

Jughead stopped clicking and she glanced over at the screen to see which box he’d highlighted. “ _Stranger Things_ is a good one,” he commented, sounding a little unsure.

She nodded, raising the mug to her lips. “I haven’t seen the new season yet, either,” Betty confessed. “Season one was so good, I watched it in a day.”

A huge grin spread across his face. “Me too!”

Betty smiled at his enthusiasm. “Well, I don’t have any plans for today,” she commented meaningfully. 

Settling into her couch, he tucked his sock-covered feet under her blanket and clicked play. She sipped her tea as the first episode began, only half paying attention to what was happening. Her mind was racing so quickly that it was difficult for her to process everything she was thinking. Her thoughts kept drifting back to her imagined goodnight kiss, and she couldn’t stop stealing glances to check that her brain hadn’t invented today as a part of her illness, too. About halfway through the episode, she drew up her knees and tucked her feet below the blanket.

As her feet brushed against his, Jughead’s shoulders shifted and he straightened, his blue eyes flashing over to meet hers. Betty looked quickly back at the screen, battling to keep herself from smiling. She curled her toes a bit, letting them press gently against the soft part of his soles. For a moment, they stayed still like that. Then Jughead’s feet slid around hers, his toes playing over her ankle, and a warm heat bloomed over Betty’s cheeks. 

By the third episode, Jughead slipped his hands under the blanket, too. Tentatively at first, and then more firmly, he began to rub her feet.

This time, she definitely wasn’t dreaming. Betty felt like she should have been alarmed, but it just felt so _good_. She leaned against the pillow at her side and let out a long sigh, unable to keep herself from smiling. If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had rubbed her feet like this. Without a doubt, this was _not_ professional. Looking over at the curl of hair falling over Jughead’s eyes, Betty wondered if she really cared any more.

During episode five, Jughead hit pause. He disentangled himself from the couch, the blanket, and Betty and stood up, stretching his arms toward the sky. She took in an eyeful of the dark hair trailing south from his belly button and the way his hips angled into the waistline of his jeans, feeling a burst of heat flood her lower abdomen. Glancing away before she could get too flustered, she couldn’t stifle a large yawn.

“I’m going to start that soup, are you hungry?”

Betty nodded, throwing the blanket aside and getting up to stretch, too. Though she could easily curl up with a book for hours, her muscles were protesting the sustained lack of activity today. 

“Let me help,” she offered, starting toward the kitchen. 

Jughead held out one hand, shaking his head. “Sorry, but no. This is a secret Jones family recipe,” he stated firmly.

Betty leaned against her kitchen island and watched as he took ingredients out of her fridge. Without the hesitation of an ametaur cook, he began slicing carrots, celery, and onion on her cutting board. Dropping them into the pot, he turned back to his ingredients and broke a stick of butter in half. He carefully peeled away the parchment paper and dropped it into the pot, too. 

Without trying to sound like she was questioning him, Betty carefully said, “Who taught you how to cook, Jug?” 

He glanced up, his blue eyes soft beneath the fringe of dark curls that she was quickly coming to adore. Starting to break down a little rotisserie chicken on the cutting board, he said, “My mom, actually.”

Betty tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s nice,” she observed. “My mother taught me how to bake.” Propping up her chin with an elbow on the counter, Betty added dryly, “Something about not being able to catch a husband if I didn’t know how to make cookies.”

He laughed at that. “Does it work?” Jughead asked, turning and stirring the vegetables in the pot.

Since he wasn’t looking at her, Betty felt brave enough to quip, “I don’t know. Let me make you cookies some time and we’ll find out.”

She was rewarded by a deep red tint that spread over the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. But it was Betty’s turn to blush when he glanced over his shoulder and said, “Okay.”

Sputtering in surprise, Betty stammered, “Did you just ask me to marry you?”

Jughead turned and gripped the edge of the island with both hands, leaned toward her and said in a husky tone, “Make me those cookies and I’ll let you know.” Then he grinned, straightened, and went back to his cooking.

Betty smoothed her fingers through her hair, holding it back momentarily in a faux-ponytail. As she forced her heart back into its proper place in her chest, she grumbled, “You’re terrible.”

Jughead grinned again and mock-bowed to her. “I try,” he joked, going back to the fridge.

Not long after, Betty set out a sleeve of saltine crackers. Jughead gave her such an offended look that she quietly returned them to their cupboard in the kitchen, then followed him into the living room. He placed two steaming bowls of Jones family chicken soup on her coffee table and set down two spoons. Wordlessly, Jughead settled onto the couch and held up a corner of the blanket for her.

This time, when she sat down on the couch, she nestled into the space next to him so that their sides pressed together. Betty tucked her legs onto the couch next to her, and he fit his into the remaining space so that they could keep sharing the blanket.

Jughead turned _Stranger Things_ back on while they waited for the soup to cool. Betty was a little dismayed to note that the sun was starting to set--she knew that he had a curfew to uphold, as a part of his parole. With professional conduct the last thing on her mind, she nestled against his side and jumped as the kids in the show were attacked by creatures, barricading themselves inside a junkyard bus. The episode had a lot of jump scares, and Betty couldn’t help yelping a few times, her hand flying to Jughead’s leg involuntarily.

Then he draped his arm over her shoulders. Though Betty felt like she could have easily panicked, she let herself relax instead.

As the next episode began, she tried her soup. She blew on her spoonful, tested the temperature with her lips, and let the golden liquid pour over her tongue. Her eyes widened and she looked over at Jughead, dipping the spoon quickly back into the bowl for another bite. 

“Did you say that your mom taught you this recipe so that you could get a wife?” she teased. “This is the best chicken soup I’ve ever had.”

He smirked in response to her joke, dipping his spoon into his own bowl. “I’m a man of many talents,” he replied easily.

With her stomach full of warm, heavenly soup, a fluffy blanket over her legs, and the space heater otherwise known as Jughead Jones at her side, Betty found her eyes growing heavier once again. Just before the season finale, she curled against her client and fell asleep.

When Betty opened her eyes, two things occured to her immediately. First, it was utterly dark, meaning that it was sometime in the middle of the night. Second, if the arm wrapped around her waist didn’t give it away, then the warm breath tickling over her neck would have alerted her to Jughead, who was dead asleep behind her. 

Her eyes flew to her clock. _Shit_ , they must have fallen asleep before the end of the season. It had been so warm and comfortable on the couch, and she was possibly still a little bit under the weather from the day before, and… _his parole_.

She turned, shaking his shoulder quickly. “Jughead,” she said, and then as his eyes squeezed closed, she urgently hissed, “Jug, you have to go home.”

His eyes flew open. She felt his entire body tense next to hers--stretched out together as they were, it would have been hard for her _not_ to. He looked immediately over at her clock. 

“Fuck, it’s three in the morning,” he cursed, scrambling off the couch. 

Betty sat up, her heart hammering, holding the blanket around herself. Jughead grabbed his jacket and slipped on his shoes, which he’d left by the front door. As he quickly prepared to leave, she tried to be reassuring and rambled, “Tell your parole officer it was a family emergency, Jug. This is my fault anyway, you were just being nice and I took advantage. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that she knows it wasn’t you, I’m not going to let you go back to prison because of some _soup_ \--”

Before she realized what was happening, he walked back to the couch and looked down at her. In the dark, his expression was unreadable. Jughead slid one hand around her waist, pulling her up from the couch, the fingers of his other hand slipping through the hair at the back of her head. And then his lips were against hers, and they were softer and warmer than she ever could have imagined, and something inside of Betty flared up like it had been sleeping all of her life, her hands curled helplessly against his chest. She knew in that moment that she wanted to keep kissing him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

When he let her go, she noticed that he was breathing heavily, too. He pressed his forehead briefly against hers, whispered, “You didn’t take advantage. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he left.

Betty sank back onto her couch, her whole body trembling, and she raised her fingertips to brush them over her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Evie and Squids for beta reading! <3
> 
> So total side note, one time during college, my future-husband made me some chicken soup when I was sick. Only, he always mixes up cilantro and parsley in the grocery store. The soup ended up chock-full of cilantro, but it actually tasted pretty good. Jughead would never make such a mistake, though. (He knows his parsley from his cilantro, of course.)
> 
> I love seeing your comments, tell me what you thought of that kiss! If you're partying today for the fourth (or my birthday), make sure you have a designated driver or you take an uber... :)


	7. Officer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry everyone, this is about a day later than I usually post, but I was at the beach! It was lovely, and I left my laptop at home, and updating through my mobile apps is always difficult to do. Thank you for waiting so patiently!

On Monday morning at half-past seven, Betty walked into Officer Blossom’s office, not a moment later than their agreed-upon meeting time. The red-headed officer looked up from her keyboard, her expression less than impressed. Both women regarded each other for a moment before Officer Blossom looked pointedly at her chair and raised an eyebrow. “Sit down,” she said, her tone impatient.

Betty slid the chair back from the edge of the desk so that her knees wouldn’t collide when she sat. Officer Blossom returned to whatever she was typing, her fingers flying over the keys for a moment until she raised one index finger to punch the final key. 

She swiveled in her chair and turned the full weight of her stare on Betty, tilting her head slightly and fixing a large, unsettling smile in place.

“Ms. Cooper. Thank you for being on time,” she stated.

“Of course,” replied Betty. Based on the majority of their interactions, Officer Blossom was one of her least favorite colleagues, if she was honest about it. And Betty had been embracing a spirit of honesty lately.

“I won’t waste your time if you don’t waste mine. We’re here to discuss Forsythe, yes?”

Before she could stop herself, Betty corrected, “Jughead.”

A stillness came over Officer Blossom and she drew in a breath, her uncannily cold smile faltering. “Whatever,” she replied, and poised her hands over her keyboard. “As far as I’m aware, he’s met all of his requirements, and he comes to his scheduled meetings early, which I appreciate. Your thoughts?”

A brief memory of eyes in the dark, of a hand slipping around her waist, of lips against lips. Betty blinked, flashing her best Cooper smile at Officer Blossom. “I think you’re right so far,” she said. “From what I’ve seen, he has a strong support network. He’s committed to avoiding people that were a bad influence on his decisions before the arrest.” Nevermind that she uncovered that information on what might have been a date, shortly before she vomited in front of him. “I think that he’s in a good position to succeed.”

Officer Blossom typed quickly as Betty spoke, her eyes focused on her monitor. When her fingers stilled, she turned and looked at Betty directly again. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for Officer Blossom’s caseload. Betty felt like that stare was powerful enough to cut even the toughest gang leader down to size. It was hard for her to picture Jughead sitting where she was now, on the receiving end of the same look.

“Off the record,” Officer Blossom said, leaning slightly forward, “I’m not convinced. I think that there’s more to Forsythe Pendleton than meets the eye, and I’m determined to find it.”

Betty struggled mightily to keep her expression neutral. Whatever Officer Blossom meant by that, she was certain it wouldn’t be good for Jughead. Wondering if she had any ability to stay the officer’s suspicions, Betty said cautiously, “Oh, I don’t know. So far, he’s been punctual, easy to work with, and eager to change. I guess we’ll compare notes again next week for the second report.”

Officer Blossom looked as if a fly had gotten into her coffee. Her expression of trivial annoyance made Betty squirm in her chair, almost compelling her to take it back and agree to join her in a quest to expose Forsythe Pendleton’s darkest secrets for the world--and the law--to dissect. Almost. A brush of warm lips and her rapidly beating heart convinced her otherwise. 

Turning to the computer and giving the mouse a forceful click, Officer Blossom didn’t glance at Betty again. “I think we’re done here, Ms. Cooper. Same time next week. Do not be late.”

Not even bothered by being dismissed, Betty rose from her chair and let herself out into the hallway. As she closed the door behind herself, a tall man in a leather jacket, that must have been Officer Blossom’s 8AM appointment, looked down at her--and did she notice a pleading look in his eyes? 

By the time she returned to her office, she’d already had a handful of emails build up. Clicking on the first few, she skimmed over office updates and requests from coworkers. After going through her inbox, she clicked on her calendar program and scanned over the appointments that she had for the day. 

Betty straightened and looked at her schedule again. Today was her first scheduled meeting with a new client, exactly one month after they’d held their phone interview. She’d scheduled their meetings in the mid-morning so that there wouldn’t be a conflict with Jughead’s afternoon appointments. As long as her next client wasn’t someone broodingly handsome, who swept her off her feet and cooked her chicken soup when she was sick, she would be fine.

She didn’t allow her mind to linger on those memories again. Instead, she leafed through her notes and glanced at the monitor as the report from Officer Blossom dinged into her inbox. Betty sent the email forward to Weatherbee, knowing that he needed a copy of the report for his own records, too. She also sent a copy to the printer, to add to the paper file she kept in her desk drawer. 

Rising from her seat, she left her office and made her way to the large community printer. As she waited for her turn, her colleague, Ethel Muggs, looked over and smiled at her. 

“Good morning, Betty,” she said softly.

Betty smiled in return. “Hi, Ethel.”

Glancing over in the direction of their supervisor’s office, probably to verify that his door was shut, Ethel’s gaze returned to Betty. “You look different today. Like you’re happier. Are you dating someone new?”

Whatever she thought Ethel was about to say, it wasn’t that. Betty felt her smile thin. Luckily, Ethel’s print job finished at that moment and the printer dinged. She’d never felt such comraderie with an inanimate piece of technology before. Darting forward, she typed in her copy code and found the only job she’d sent to the queue. 

“No, it’s just a good day,” she said in response to Ethel’s observation, not looking at her colleague. Working with trained counselors was sometimes like working with an office full of mind readers, and Betty had never resented that more than she did now. 

She snatched her sheet from the tray and rushed back to her office, muttering a goodbye to Ethel as she passed. Slipping the sheet into her file, she closed her desk drawer and leaned back in her chair. Her hands rose to her head and she anxiously checked her ponytail. She had just enough time to brew a cup of tea before she was scheduled to meet with Tall Boy.

When she finished tucking away her electric kettle, she was surprised to see the veritable giant that had walked into her office while she was distracted. Blinking, Betty fixed a smile in place and said, “Wow. I guess they don’t call you Tall Boy as a joke.”

He rolled his eyes, dropping onto her couch without waiting for an offer. In general, he was wearing almost the same thing that Jughead tended to dress himself in, but Tall Boy couldn’t have been any more different. He was scowling, almost glaring at the only painting Betty had hung in her office. Absolutely nothing about his body language indicated that he cared whatsoever about making this easy for either of them.

She blew on her tea while it steeped, thinking quickly. Betty looked over at the file she’d been sent before his release, her eyes briefly scanning the sheet for anything she could use to break the ice. Briefly, she lingered over the distinction that he was one of the _Southside Serpents_ , realizing that was also the name of Jughead’s gang. Since the two of them seemed utter opposites in terms of personality, she wondered how Jughead had gotten himself involved with someone like _this_. 

“I’m not here to sing songs or hold your hand,” Tall Boy growled unexpectedly, turning his glare in her direction. “So how about you just fill out whatever bullshit paperwork you’re supposed to keep for me, tell them I’ve been a good boy, and keep your fucking mouth shut?”

Betty straightened, her brows coming together in response to his overtly hostile statement. She was used to clients sometimes threatening her, but Tall Boy seemed unusually bent on establishing his dominance in their business. Drawing in a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened her mouth to reply.

Quick as anything, his eyes darted over to her. “I thought I told you to shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “Or did I stutter?”

She didn’t appreciate his attitude at all. Knowing that she needed to establish a working friendship between them for the program to be successful, though, she drew another deep breath and slid her legal pad into position. “Just answer a few questions,” she said quickly, before he could snap again. 

Tall Boy rolled his eyes and looked away, but kept his mouth shut.

“Your family. Have they been supportive since your release?”

He spit-- _spit_ \--onto the floor of her office. Betty carefully wrote _Lack of support_ beneath his name.

“Are your living arrangements stable?” she tried.

That question goaded a little more action out of him. “The fuck did I meet with my parole officer for, if you’re going to ask me the same goddamn questions?”

Betty wrote _ask Blossom_ on her notes, feeling her irritation with him growing. 

She let her annoyance seep into her tone and she snapped, “Are you aware that removal from this program could result in you finishing your original sentence?” Glancing at her computer for a brief second, she added, “With your record and the way you’ve scored on your screenings, no judge is going to give you another chance.” No need to explain that Betty had campaigned for this file personally, wanting to show Weatherbee that she could handle clients with any background. Giving up on this one would mean giving up on part of the program--admitting that it wasn’t going to work for mid to high-level offenders. As much as the county might want to lower recidivism rates, investing time and resources like this in one petty criminal at a time was not going to seem worthwhile, and she knew it. 

He leaned forward, then. Betty got the immediate impression that he was used to intimidating people, whatever his role in the gang might have been. As he drew himself up, she focused intently on making sure that she didn’t flinch. In this office, in the hierarchy of power, _she_ was the one in charge. He was in _her_ territory, and he was going to need to understand that.

“Yes, I fucking am. So write nice notes, princess.”

Based on their interactions, she should have expected him to say something like that, but it still felt like a figurative slap in her face. Betty stiffened and felt her hand tighten around her pen. This was absolutely the part of her job that she _hated_. 

Tall Boy rose from the couch, and she didn’t stop him. He let himself out of the office, pausing only to pull the door closed again behind himself. Betty waited a few minutes until she was sure that he was gone. Then she ripped the useless note page from her legal pad, crumpled it up, and hurled it at the closed door with all her might. 

She glanced at her clock. He hadn’t even stayed for half of his appointment time. With a sinking feeling, she realized that they were going to have a repeat performance tomorrow.

It would be another few hours before Jughead’s appointment, and Betty was beyond frustrated. Tall Boy hadn’t been the only thing that had ruined her morning, either--it was Ethel, and Officer Blossom, and the way that her subconscious mind was heatedly imagining how her meeting with Jughead was going to go that afternoon.

She grabbed her purse and keys, storming out of the room and leaving her cup of freshly brewed tea untouched on her desk. Reaching her car, she slammed the driver’s door shut as quickly as she could and gripped the stationary steering wheel, letting out a scream.

Veronica had been right--she needed to get herself re-focused on her career. Betty had worked hard to be successful, one bad interaction with Tall Boy was not going to deter her from her job. She had never let anything like that meeting stop her before. Betty had been spoken to that way in the past, and she’d managed to turn the case around. It was something her superiors had commended her for. Still, that didn’t mean it would be easy.

She backed out of her spot and drove into town, letting the roads take her toward the downtown district. Without fully being conscious of her destination, she pulled into an empty spot behind the theater and slid her gear shifter into park. It was still before noon--Jughead probably wouldn’t even be at work yet--but it was as good a place as any to clear her mind.

Pressing her forehead against the wheel, Betty looked down at the palms of her hands and willed herself not to cry. 

She was like that when Jughead parked his bike next to her car and found her, maybe half an hour later, maybe an hour. He tugged the handle of her door and leaned down to look at her, his elbow resting on her roof.

“Betty?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. “What are you doing here?”

She looked up at him and raised her shoulders in a shrug. “I just had a terrible meeting, that’s all,” she whispered.

He held out a hand to help her out of the car, his blue eyes still worried as she let herself climb out and she half-heartedly clicked the lock button on her key fob. With a glance around the parking lot, he said, “I’ve got to get inside, but Betty--come with me?”

Of course, he couldn’t be late for work. Last night had already been a close call, and they were lucky that Betty had woken up when she did, or he might have missed a random check-in from Officer Blossom. Now that she knew her colleague was out for Jughead’s blood, Betty would just have to do whatever she could to make sure that he kept abiding by the terms of his parole. She nodded and followed him into the building, a distant part of her mind noting that he was still holding her hand.

He led her in the employee entrance and she waited while he punched his time card in the old-fashioned machine. Jughead tugged her in the direction of the public floor, nodding to a few coworkers as they passed. 

Approaching a nondescript door, he fished a set of keys out of his pocket and briefly let go of her hand to open the lock. “Okay, now tell me what happened,” he instructed, once he’d taken her hand again and pulled her inside. Betty vaguely noticed that they were in an office, with an old desk and a single rolling chair occupying most of the space. She shook her head at his words, feeling again like she needed to pull herself together if she was going to keep herself from crying. 

“Just a bad meeting, Jug. I told you.” She collapsed into the chair, putting her hands on her head to smooth back her hair and taking a deep breath. 

He raised one eyebrow. “With...your boss?” 

She shook her head.

“With...a coworker?”

Another shake.

“With one of your other cases?” he tried.

Hesitantly, she nodded.

Jughead frowned, looking directly at her as she was trying to wrestle her emotions back under control. He had enough in his life to worry about--he didn’t need to take on any burdens for her, too. Betty’s job was supposed to be about making _his_ life better. That thought only brought another wave of depression coursing through her, and she had to look away from him to keep it under control.

That was when she noticed that he’d clenched his fists. Her eyes flew to his face, alarmed. “Nothing really happened,” she said quickly, to calm him down. “He just said some hurtful things.”

Jughead knelt in front of her, looking up so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do I know him?” he asked, his tone absolutely serious. Betty tried to glance away, but he raised one hand and gently held her chin in place with the crook of his index finger. “Betty, this is important. Do you think I would know him?” he demanded.

Nothing could stop the tears from filling her eyes, then. Again, she briefly nodded. 

He straightened and pulled her into a hug, resting his head on top of hers and gently rubbing her back. Betty pressed her cheek against his chest as she slipped her arms around his waist. 

Still in his arms, she took a long, steadying breath. She licked her lips, trying to summon the courage to explain. After the weekend, she felt like she needed to be sure that he understood what sort of situation they were in, if this continued. Even if she couldn’t be professional around him, she had to at least _warn_ him. “Jug,” she said, feeling him tense against her. “If someone finds out about...this, whatever it is, you could be taken out of the program.”

He looked down at her with a curious expression, a dark curl twisting over his eyes. “I know, Betty.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he added, “I don’t care.”

Those words rushed through her like water in a desert. Feeling just a tiny bit lighter, she said, “You don’t?”

He shook his head, letting his smile fully bloom as he did so. “There’s something about you,” Jughead replied. “I know it might not seem like it, but I’ve told you things that I’ve never told anyone.”

She raised her eyebrows, thinking of the relatively small amount of progress they’d made. Before she could question him, he continued.

“I feel like, when I’m around you, none of the shit that’s ruined my life can touch me, anymore. I know that’s stupid--”

Betty raised herself up on her toes and pressed her lips against his, cutting him off. It was just as electric as it had been in the middle of the night, there was no denying that. She slipped her arms around his neck and felt his hands grip her hips, just as his tongue brushed over her lower lip. With a small tilt of her head, she shyly let herself taste him. It was a taste that she thought she could never forget in her life, like coffee and smoke, and something so distinctly _Jughead_ that she couldn’t directly describe it other than to realize that she wanted _more_. 

As their lips parted, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling against his mouth. “I like you too,” she breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and Betty IS capable of being honest about her feelings. Whoo! 
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter! Officer Blossom~ Tall Boy~ Ethel~ so many auxiliary characters.


	8. Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been inundated with classes all of a sudden! I'm doing my master's online, and I somehow managed to get myself enrolled in THREE classes this semester...it's crazy. For those of you who haven't done online classes before, they're so much more work than traditional classes (and the graduate level classes are worse). But anyway...this chapter is a little bit longer than usual, I think! Enjoy~~~

On Tuesday morning, Betty was filling out the reports that Weatherbee requested. She was already on her second cup of tea, keeping herself calm and relaxed as she prepared for her second meeting with Tall Boy. Though she wasn’t going to admit it to anyone in the office, she felt a lot better about the situation after she’d spoken with Jughead. What he’d told her about feeling safe around her...well, she hadn’t told him in so many words, but she knew _exactly_ how he felt.

As Betty took another sip of tea, she looked up sharply when her office door opened. Tall Boy wasn’t due for another half hour, and her stomach twisted unpleasantly as she realized that he might have decided to come early. 

When a much less threatening leather-clad figure came through the door instead, a rush of relief washed through her. 

“What are you doing here?” Betty asked, unable to stop a huge smile from spreading over her face.

Jughead set a small paper bag down on her desk, putting a cardboard carrier with two paper cups next to it. He returned her smile easily and said, “I know you’re more of a tea kind of girl, and if you don’t want this coffee, there’s no pressure, I’ll drink it.”

Betty’s eyebrows rose and she couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, will you?”

He nodded earnestly, unrolling the top of the bag. “There’s a bakery in town that makes these delicious scones, but you have to get them when they’re fresh. And Sweet Pea owes me about a thousand favors, so I got him to make us a batch.” Holding one out in a napkin, he said, “Tell me what you think?”

Ignoring the implication that she’d acquired this breakfast pastry through some sort of gang-related deal (because really, who else would have a name like _Sweet Pea_? And it wasn’t even a very threatening nickname), Betty took it from his hand and had a bite. Jughead was right—the warm, somewhat gooey center and the flaky outer edge were even better because they retained the heat from the oven. Give them even an hour to cool, and she could tell that they’d be all the less likely to melt in her mouth.

Jughead settled onto the couch, eating his pastry in just a few bites and taking a long drink of his coffee. She realized that he was watching her, trying to gauge her reaction.

Betty beamed, “These are heavenly,” and his face lit up in response.

“Good. Oh, and I hope you know we’re still meeting later. I just had to drop by with these.”

She nodded, her stomach fluttering at the prospect of getting to see him again later. The anxiety she’d been feeling about her ten-thirty appointment was forgotten entirely. In fact, as she watched Jughead sip his coffee and close his eyes in delight while he ate his baked goods, Tall Boy was the last thing on her mind.

They chatted aimlessly about their plans for lunch, neither one particularly focused on uncovering anything specific about the other. Betty didn’t realize that the clock had marched relentlessly on, heedless of their easy conversation and enjoyment of each other’s company. 

When the door opened at 10:34, Betty looked over in alarm. Tall Boy barreled into the office, his face stormy, body tense. He pulled up short as soon as he laid eyes on the young man already reclining on Betty’s couch. Jughead’s expression shifted immediately into a look that Betty had never seen before, something hard, hinting just a little at danger that she would have sworn an hour before he would never be capable of. Glancing quickly at Tall Boy, she saw that he didn’t look particularly surprised.

Jughead rose from the couch, maintaining eye contact with Tall Boy. In a calm voice, he said, “I’ll see you in a little while, Betty.” The words, while generally innocuous, seemed to carry a message that wasn’t intended for her at all. It felt like her lungs had filled with lead. She looked from one to the other, growing more and more apprehensive about the way they seemed to be arguing silently through the use of their eye contact alone.

Without looking at her, Jughead made his way out of the office. As he passed Tall Boy, it seemed for a brief moment that they would collide--but then, almost at the last second, the larger man moved quickly to one side and let him by. Betty was astonished by the entire exchange, and was only just beginning to mentally dismiss its oddness when Tall Boy sat quietly down on her couch and looked up at her.

Bracing herself for some foul threat, she was unprepared for him to forcefully--but politely--grind out the words, “What did you need to ask me today, Betty?”

As startling as his change of heart might have been, Betty didn’t let herself dwell on it right away. She grabbed her pen and fired off the questions she felt would decently establish a working relationship. Tall Boy tersely answered each one for most of their meeting. Then, after she’d acquired almost a full page of notes, he started slipping back into a pattern of mixed insults and curses that made it impossible to talk any more. 

Betty looked up with a sigh. “I understand that you don’t appreciate being analyzed like this,” she acknowledged. “It’s only going to make it more difficult for both of us if we don’t meet halfway, Tall Boy.” Betty felt like she was doing more than offering the proverbial olive branch, and it was her client that tacitly kept snatching it away and setting it on fire. She’d said _we_ , but it was only so he wouldn’t feel like she was accusing him.

Tall Boy still didn’t react well. “Not my fucking problem, is it?” he snapped, looking away and scowling.

She set down her pen and resisted the urge to rub her fingers over her temples. Instead, she settled for briefly closing her eyes and taking a long drink of the lukewarm coffee from Jughead’s impromptu breakfast visit. “If there’s some reason that you feel unable to cooperate with me personally, I can see about transferring your case,” she offered. 

He turned to regard her and for a split-second, she thought that he would agree. Instead, his face split into a wide, somewhat malicious grin. He growled, “I don’t care who the fuck you are, or what sort of paper you might have framed on the wall, or how you think you might _change_ me, but we’re going to get one thing straight right now--you’re my ticket out of prison.” Betty’s body was instantly tense, her mind rapidly formulating a thousand things to say all at once in response to _that_ insult, but he wasn’t done. “As I see it, that means that you have to say a bunch of bullshit about me, I put up with that ginger parole bitch for another year, and all of this is just a bad dream. So why would I want to walk away from a pretty little piece of ass like yours?”

By the time he finished his tirade, her whole body was shaking. Betty was used to people sometimes reacting with hostility to what she did, but never-- _never_ once had someone spoken to her in such a demeaning way. Had she been wrong, when she’d taken on this case? Weatherbee hadn’t wanted to admit him into the program, after all. She felt fire burning across her face and neck, and she asked herself again-- _was she wrong?_

His words were still ringing in the air when the door burst open. Tall Boy was on his feet in an instant, his hand curling at his side as if he were accustomed to holding a weapon there. Betty’s heart hammered in her chest--of course, he couldn’t have a weapon, not while he was out on parole. She also knew that she should have been more shocked to see Jughead come through the door, but something about what was happening just made _sense_ to her, in a way that she couldn’t yet coherently describe. 

His voice was hardly more than a whisper as he looked at Tall Boy and said shortly, “Say. That. Again.”

They stared at each other, apparently having some sort of silent battle of wills. Betty didn’t realize that her hands had covered her mouth until she tried to bite her lip. Jughead regarded Tall Boy for a moment longer before the larger man flipped over his palms and mimed holding out his wrists for arrest.

“Caught me,” he muttered, still staring. “So that’s how it is, Jughead?”

A flash of deep blue turned in her direction, and then it was gone. “That’s how it is,” Jughead agreed, a little less menacingly than before.

Tall Boy laughed once, mirthlessly, more like a bark than anything else. He looked over at Betty, his pale blue eyes meeting hers for a long moment before he glanced back at Jughead and said, “You and your old man always had a taste for trash, huh?”

In an instant, Jughead grabbed Tall Boy’s arm and pulled, forcing the older man to turn toward the door. As soon as they made eye contact again, Jughead’s hand dropped away. “Get out,” he commanded, his voice steady. The air in the room felt thick as they stared. Then Tall Boy raised his hands and flicked the lapels of his own jacket, giving Jughead one last menacing stare, before he turned and left.

Jughead immediately came around her desk. It looked like he was going to put his arms around her, but at the last second he glanced over at the open door and stopped, his hands curling before he could touch her. Betty rose from her chair and lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice only hitching a little. 

He stepped back and let her pick up her purse. She led him out of the office to the parking lot, trying to focus the entire time on breathing steadily and calming her nerves. Once the doors of her car were closed, Jughead turned toward her like he was going to say something. 

“Were you eavesdropping?” she asked quickly, her brows drawing together. “Is that why you brought me breakfast today? I know you don’t like being in the office, and how else would you be able to swoop in at the perfect moment?” She glanced over her shoulder as she backed out of her parking spot. A few minutes passed while they drove in silence. She took that lack of response as an affirmation of her suspicions.

Finally, he said quietly, “I’m sorry, if I overstepped.”

She looked over briefly, turning her eyes back to the road. They turned onto her street. Betty could feel Jughead looking at her, but she didn’t say anything until she’d parked in her spot. Drawing in another steadying breath, she said, “I appreciate it, but I’m a little worried, Jug.”

Betty opened her door and got out, walking towards her house and hearing Jughead close his door behind her. She undid the lock and went inside. Once they were both in the privacy of her home, she turned back to face him.

Jughead shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the back of her couch, watching her anxiously. His face looked as if he thought Betty was upset with _him_ , and she took a step toward him immediately to show him otherwise. As soon as she was close enough, she slipped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. Jughead stiffened in surprise, but then slid his hands around her waist. 

Betty would have stayed there and said something to explain how she was feeling, but she heard her cell phone buzzing in her purse. Pushing herself away from Jughead, she fished it out and slid the green button over to accept before she could look at the caller ID. 

“Hello?” she said. 

“Ms. Cooper, it’s Officer Blossom. I understand that you are the only witness to an event that took place involving one of our mutual clients?”

Betty froze, looking over at Jughead. Her eyes widened in surprise, and from the way he straightened at her expression, she knew that he could tell something was wrong. She said, “Which one?” 

The Officer’s tone was flat as she said, “Forsythe Pendleton Jones. Did you witness him threatening another parolee around eleven this morning?”

Betty said, “No. I didn’t hear anything like that.”

There was a beat of silence. “Gerald Petite says otherwise.”

She almost rolled her eyes. Of _course_ Tall Boy would contact Officer Blossom about Jughead’s intervention in their meeting. Turning away from him, she stepped into the kitchen to give herself the illusion of privacy and replied, “Gerald got a little upset today during our session. _Forsythe_ happened to come in a few minutes early for his, and just asked him to remember his manners. There was no threat, Officer.”

“If that’s the case, then why is Gerald telling me that he is also the victim of a physical assault? Can you explain how the conversation escalated?”

Betty closed her eyes, recalling the way Jughead had grabbed Tall Boy’s arm. Would that be considered assault? And it went without saying that, if she were to confirm anything that Officer Blossom was looking for evidence to support, Jughead would be on his way back to prison faster than he could say _gang violence_. If these were any other clients, would she be feeling differently? Her head whirled as she questioned herself, and she was unable to form any direct answers. Betty unconsciously raised one hand to her face, the other clutching the phone just a little bit tighter. “Officer Blossom, I don’t recall seeing any physical contact between them,” she heard herself saying. “I think that Gerald might be exaggerating the whole situation.”

It was like she could hear the cogs of her colleague’s mind processing on the other end of the phone. Evenly, Officer Blossom said, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Cooper. I’ll address this issue right away. If Gerald gets out of hand for you, let me know.”

“Of course,” Betty promised. She hung up. Turning, she set her phone on the counter. Betty braced both hands on the edge and let her head hang as she forced herself to take a long, shaky breath. She had not lied to Officer Blossom, not really. Jughead hadn’t threatened Tall Boy, when it came down to it. Betty wouldn’t count a touch on the arm as _assault_ , not when Tall Boy had been so threatening toward her. She was _not_ letting her personal feelings come before her job-- _or the law_. That was something that Betty Cooper would never do.

Straightening, she pulled her ponytail to secure the tie more firmly against her head. She saw her guest standing exactly where she’d left him when she returned to the living room. She met Jughead’s worried blue eyes and sighed. “Yes, that was Officer Blossom.”

His eyebrows rose. “Tall Boy snitched?” he asked, and Betty winced at the term. He noticed. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. I’ve always known that I’m not his favorite person, but this is a new low, even for him.”

Betty said, her tone absolutely _not_ accusing, “It seems like you know him really well,” thinking of the way they’d seemed to talk without words.

Jughead shook his head. “He’s really more from my old man’s time,” he replied, and Betty noticed a flicker of worry pass over his face as soon as he said it. The look was smoothed away by a more serious expression. “If I hear him speak to you like that one more time, Betty, I swear I—“

She held up one hand quickly, and interjected, “Stop, Jug. If I were doing my _professional_ duty, you know that I probably should have said more about the way the two of you interacted. Don’t give me anything else to forget about, please.” In that instant, with that request, whatever they’d become in the last few days was forgotten and they were immediately case manager and client once more. The way things had been going, it was getting too easy for her to forget.

Jughead regarded her seriously for a moment, maybe thinking about the same thing, then nodded. “Thank you for that,” he said, acknowledging what she’d done for him. After a pause, he added softly, “I think the worst thing anyone could do to me right now would be to take me away from you.”

Betty drew her brows together. She looked up at him, hardly believing that he’d said something so romantic _right_ after she’d reminded him of the _real_ parameters of their relationship. To drive her point home, she said, “Jughead, you have to promise me that you’re going to leave Tall Boy alone. Seeing him in any way--outside of an accidental encounter in the office--will violate your parole, and he’s already tried to report you once. You have to let us do our jobs.”

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away from the intensity of the look she gave him along with her chastisement. He returned his fathomless blue eyes back to her. She felt a twist of something that she was becoming too familiar with curl through her lower stomach, and inwardly fought against herself to ignore it. 

Jughead pushed himself away from the back of her couch, taking a small step forward. He cupped her face gently in his hands and met her eyes as he said, “Just tell me if it gets worse. _You_ promise _me_ , Betty.” 

Her mouth was only a breath away from his. She lost her inward battle and said, “Okay.”

Jughead kissed her urgently in response, and everything started to happen all at once. 

He thrust his tongue against hers as her hands slid around him, beneath his jacket, grabbing fistfulls of t-shirt, pulling him toward her. They turned--she wasn’t sure if she was pulling or if he was pushing, or if they were simply reading one another’s bodies so well that they were moving in unison now--and he lifted her onto the back of her couch. 

Jughead stepped between her knees, nipping her lower lip with his teeth. Betty moaned at the highly pleasurable burst of pain, unable to restrain herself. 

At the sound, he pressed forward, his waist aligned with hers so that the bulge of his arousal ground against her core in a desperate search for the relief of friction. She gasped again at the contact, conscious thought evaporating from her mind, and she slid her hips forward in response to rub herself over him again.

He gripped her waist with both hands, steadying her on the back of the couch. His fingers dug into her skin, the pressure nearly bruising, and he held her in place as he ground against her one more time. Her head fell back and her eyes closed at the sensation, the smallest whimper of need escaping from her lips. The sound was something primal she hadn’t known her body was capable of producing. She felt a blush spreading over her cheeks and looked back at Jughead, trying to decide if she’d embarrassed herself in front of him again.

His eyes were dark, and the curl of raven hair had fallen over from the side again. Betty realized that they were both breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling just as quickly as his chest was heaving. She slid her hands over his leather-covered arms, letting herself briefly feel the way his muscles tensed under her touch. With an intentionally coy look, she bit her lip.

“That drives me crazy, you know,” he almost growled, his voice dripping with desire. For emphasis, he pushed himself against her briefly, a little more gently than he had before.

Betty raised her eyebrows, smiling a little in response. She knew, in her heart, that as pleasurable as the promise of satisfaction in his eyes would be, it would go against everything she personally stood for--not just her ideals of professionalism, but her _morals_. It was easier to admit to herself now that whatever she was feeling for Jughead was more intense and overwhelming than anything she’d felt before in her life, but she didn’t let that scare her. Betty was a creature of mental fortitude, crafted by years of adherence to the strict moral code imposed upon her by her mother. She absolutely could _not_ allow this to go any further, not right now--not when it seemed that the closer they got, the more intense Jughead’s behavior became. Feeling a little regretful, she began to battle against herself, knowing that she needed to be strong enough to stop.

She was supposed to be helping him stay _out_ of prison, not giving him a reason to go back in. 

He was kissing her jaw while she thought, though her hands had slackened against his back and some of the tension had gone from her body. Slipping one of her hands between them, to press against his chest, she said, “Jug--Jug, we have to stop.”

It surprised her slightly how quickly he stepped back, immediately respecting what she’d said. Her head was still spinning as she looked at him, her heart sinking a little as he anxiously ran his hand through his hair and looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered, taking another step back. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Betty interrupted.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, and his eyes flashed quickly back to hers, questioning. “I just...I don’t want to lose you, either. And I’m not sure how you feel, but this thing we have, it’s so strong...I don’t want you to do anything, for me, that brings any more consequences down on you.” She spoke quickly, her voice hardly above a whisper, but she knew that he heard every word as his eyes widened in recognition.

The corner of his mouth turned up, so faintly that she might have missed it. “I feel it, too,” he admitted, taking the smallest step toward her. “It’s different, for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

A small burst of euphoric glee shot through her mind at those words. Betty couldn’t help smiling and nodding as she coyly replied, “Me, too.”

Jughead grinned in return. “I won’t do anything stupid, I promise, but I can’t let him talk to you that way, Betts. It’s...it’s not simple to explain.”

Though she should have known right then, though she should have _asked _, instead she bit her lip and nodded in understanding. At that moment, after what had just happened and everything they’d said, she didn’t want to vocalize any of her suspicions about Jughead’s relationship to Tall Boy, or bring up the way that her more intimidating client had backed down after receiving what ultimately amounted to a simple glare. Deep down, she understood all too well what he was trying to tell her, that Tall Boy disrespecting her was also disrespecting Jughead in a roundabout way. But to acknowledge that understanding would mean that she was suspecting the worst of him, and that was the last thing she wanted to imply.__

__Betty threw all of those thoughts aside as she stepped forward and slipped her arms around him, holding him for a moment like their complex situation was nonexistent and they were simply a young man and a young woman falling in love._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out that steam! What do you think? Bless Betty's little heart, she tried so hard to keep things professional, but Jughead has other ideas. 
> 
> I love reading your comments! :D


	9. Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like the summer is flying by! I've only got a few weeks left until we go back to school...then the summer of fan fiction will have to crawl to a halt. :(
> 
> Thank you again to my lovely beta readers, Evie and Squids, for their help with this chapter! :)

Betty glanced up from the frying pan and said, “Are those onions diced?”

The sound of a few more chops came from behind her, and then Jughead appeared at her side. He slid his knife over the cutting board and added the onions to her pan. “What else?” he said, glancing down at her.

She nodded toward the fridge, looking at the pan as she mixed the onions in and began to saute them. “Get the minced garlic, please.”

Looking back at the pan, she heard the fridge open and close. With a heavy sigh, Jughead began to spoon the contents of a large plastic jar into her oil and onion mixture. “I could have gotten some fresh garlic, Betty. It would have tasted better than processed ingredients.”

She smirked. “I can’t believe you’re such a snob about food, and yet your favorite restaurant is a _diner_.”

His voice was defensive. “They make good food,” he protested.

“Open the tomato paste,” she said in response.

He quickly turned the can opener around the paste, standing behind her and holding the can in one hand as he reached around her with a spatula in the other to scoop out the contents. Betty couldn’t resist leaning back just a tiny bit until she felt his chest pressed against her shoulders.

Jughead laughed shortly and said, “Let’s get this cooking before you get me all wound up again.”

She glanced back with her most innocent look, her eyelashes fluttering, and she intentionally worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Jughead looked down at her and groaned, his arms still around her. “Why would I ever purposely wind you up, Juggie?” she asked sweetly, teasing him with the nickname. She saw his eyes widen as she said it and felt a momentary flash of panic that she’d overstepped a line between them.

Her anxiety vanished as he closed the rest of the space between their bodies so that she could feel exactly how _bothered_ her lip biting had made him. Jughead almost growled in her ear, “I never should have told you how that makes me feel.”

Betty grinned and quickly replied, “Jug, I’m your case manager. You’re _supposed_ to tell me how you feel.”

The look he gave her was downright smouldering. “How about I _show_ you instead?” he said, putting the can and spatula on either side of the stove and letting his hands softly run over her sides. It was Betty’s turn to shiver longingly.

She swallowed thickly and said, “Get the ground beef.” 

Jughead’s crooked smile returned, looking satisfied as he saw the effect he had on her, and he went back to the fridge. Betty broke up the meat as he added it to her pan, using her wooden spoon to turn it over so it would brown evenly. It didn’t take long, and soon she’d added the rest of the ingredients and spices they’d need to finish their homemade chili. Leaving the pot on the stove to simmer, Betty washed her hands and put the dirty dishes from the prep into her dishwasher. While she cleaned up, Jughead turned on her TV and started to scroll through her Netflix account.

They hadn’t talked about anything that had happened the day before yet. Not the situation with Tall Boy, not Betty’s professional obligations, not the way they felt about each other _emotionally_ , and definitely not the way they felt _physically_. For one day, Betty was willing to let it all go. Maybe that was selfish of her, but she was coming to realize that she was most at peace when she let whatever this was with Jughead just take its natural course, all those other worries aside. 

She settled next to him on the couch, fitting herself against the soft part of his shoulder as he put his arm around her, and helped him choose a movie.

It was Thursday, and Jughead had worked an early shift at the theater that went over their usual meeting time. One of his coworkers had asked him to cover for them, and Betty had been perfectly willing to switch their lunch appointment for dinner and a movie at home instead. She was hyper-aware of the time, of course, since she didn’t want to put him in another situation like last weekend when he’d fallen asleep and missed his curfew. They’d gotten lucky then, and Officer Blossom had made it clear that she was paying extra attention to Jughead. 

She wondered if she would find the emotional energy, or the courage, to discuss all the things that had been happening between them tomorrow. In keeping with what they’d done the previous week, Jughead had already suggested that she could meet him at the theater for a surprise movie on the big screen. She found herself looking forward to their date much more than she was looking forward to having the conversations she knew they needed to have.

She sent him home with a few extra containers of chili for Archie and Fred, after great protest. Unsure of how he would react, she said, “Maybe, if they like it, we can all have dinner some time.”

Jughead’s easy smile reassured her immediately that it had been a good suggestion. He replied, “I’m not sure how I feel about letting you meet Archie, honestly. Not until our situation is a little bit more...official.”

Her heart thudded. “Why?” she asked flirtatiously. “Worried I’ll get stolen away?”

He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her against him, leaning down like he was going to kiss her. Instead, before their lips touched, he said, “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Betty couldn’t help licking her lips, her tongue almost brushing over his, before she said, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

He’d left at a quarter to eight, as close to his curfew as possible. Betty sank onto her couch and seriously asked herself how many of her unspoken questions she was willing to let go.

On Friday, her meeting with Tall Boy was so frustrating that she didn’t even make it to her car before she was crying. She knew that Jughead would be able to tell when she got to the theater, but she couldn’t stop herself. Never had someone hated her so blatantly. It seemed like he was unusually hostile toward her for _no reason_ that she could figure out. Of course, sometimes people simply disliked you, and Betty knew that. But Tall Boy talked to her with a sort of underlying venom that Betty found impossible to ignore.

She checked her makeup in the mirror when she parked at the theater. When she was satisfied that she looked as collected as she was going to, she got out of her car and sent a quick text to Jughead to let him know that she was there. Seconds later, he appeared at the employee entrance and waved her inside.

It only took a second for him to register that something was wrong. Betty wondered if her smile was too fake, or if it had faltered somehow. As soon as he’d taken her hand and led her into an empty theater, he turned and looked into her eyes, stroking a thumb over her cheek. “Betty…”

She shook her head. “Let it go,” she said. 

He sighed largely, still looking down at her. “You promised to tell me,” he reminded her, his expression purely concerned. “Give me a little credit. I’m not going to stab him or anything.”

In a dry attempt at humor, she said, “Yeah, your files say you’re not violent.”

Jughead smirked in response. “Or I’m just good at not getting caught.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she protested, frowning. 

Jughead leaned down and kissed her briefly, his lips just brushing over hers. He smiled easily and said, “I’ll be right back.”

The lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life. Betty immediately recognized the introduction of _Kill Bill_ , glancing over as Jughead slid into the seat next to her. He slipped his arm around her. “Quentin Tarantino is clearly a modern cinematic treasure. I thought you’d appreciate his storytelling, too.”

She nodded, flipping up the arm rest to nestle comfortably against his side. “I’ve seen these, of course. I don’t live under a rock.”

Jughead teased, “You eat mostly salad, so I wasn’t sure.” After a pause, he added, “These were some of my favorite movies, when I was a kid.”

Betty raised her eyebrows. “Your parents let you watch these?” she asked, thinking of her mother’s strict monitoring of everything she watched and read. _I don’t care that you’re old enough to buy your own ticket, Elizabeth. I’ll be screening this for inappropriate content, first._

Jughead sighed and ran his other hand through his hair, looking over at her. “My parents didn’t exactly do a lot of...parenting.”

Without trying to sound like she was prying, and mostly because she was genuinely curious about that statement, Betty said, “What do you mean?”

He glanced back at the screen. “It’s a sad story,” he said quietly.

Knowing immediately that this was one of those things he would usually never share, Betty turned toward him and laced her fingers through his. Giving his hand a sympathetic squeeze, she replied, “Tell me.”

He sighed again, obviously unused to talking about himself this way. “You’ve spoken with my old man, right?” he asked. Betty nodded, looking up at him. “Well, I was honestly a little surprised that you got him on the phone. When it comes down to it, Fred has been there for me more often than my dad ever has.”

She squeezed his fingers again to show her understanding, not wanting to interrupt. 

“When you asked about my mom, before...I didn’t tell you, but she left when I was in middle school. I’m sure you saw my juvie records?”

Betty frowned and shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “If you were picked up for anything as a kid, then your records would have been sealed. Your file just says that you had three years of probation.”

He was still looking at the screen. “That’s something, I guess. It was originally for second degree arson. I know people probably say this all the time, but I swear to you, I didn’t do it. My old man being who he was in town, everyone always kind of projected their problems with him onto me. I guess I got lucky that the judge could see that, because we plead the charges down to a misdemeanor and he cut me some slack since it was my first offense.”

There she was, face to face with one of those unspoken questions again. Should she ask him to clarify what he meant about his dad’s position in town? Or could she read between the lines and continue without acknowledging the assumptions she was forced to make?

Before she could decide, Jughead glanced over at her and continued. “I practically grew up with Archie, for a while. My mom left as soon as I was arrested, and she took my sister with her. My dad got picked up for a DUI the same day, and no one came to my court date, except for Archie and Fred. He took me home until they tried to put me in the foster system, and my dad got his shit together just enough that I could still live at home.”

Betty slipped her arm around his abdomen and released his hand, feeling like more physical contact would be a better nonverbal sign of support. Jughead’s hand played over her hair and he nestled his face against the top of her head for a moment, inhaling deeply. 

“By the time I was in high school, I decided that it would be better to be homeless than watch him drink himself to death. Dad got arrested and sentenced, and I was really thrown into the foster system, then. Archie and Fred tried to help, but there wasn’t much they could do.” He paused for a long time, looking over at her. Then he said, “I’m sure your life story is all sunshine compared to that, right?”

Betty smiled ruefully and shook her head. “I tell clients all the time, assume that every person you meet is struggling with something that you know nothing about. Everyone has their demons, Jug.”

He nodded in concession, his eyebrows lifting at what she said. “Well, I told you mine,” he pointed out. “Now you have to tell me yours.”

Betty glanced over at the screen, then. In her position, she very rarely went over her own issues. Most of her time and energy was spent working through things that were troubling her clients. It was almost like this career path had been a sort of escape from her personal issues--as long as she was focused on someone else’s problems, she never _ever_ had to consider her own.

Keeping her voice steady, she hesitantly said, “As a kid, I had a perfect family. My sister and I were cheerleaders. Our parents owned the town newspaper, and the worst thing we had to deal with was being confronted by the people they wrote about in the grocery store.” 

Jughead began to rub his fingertips over her upper arm, and it sent a shiver through her body. “What happened?” He asked softly.

She sighed. “My dad had an affair, and my sister got pregnant with her high school boyfriend. She ran away from home with him. My mom lost her mind a little bit. I was all she had left, so she...well, things changed.” This was something she’d never told anyone explicitly, not once. No one else had ever really been interested, and Veronica had _been_ there, so there was no need to discuss it. Searching for the right words, Betty said, “She just didn’t allow me to be anything other than perfect. _Her_ perfect. She controlled how I thought, what I did, when I ate and slept...everything. Becoming a social worker was the first thing I ever did to defy her.”

Jughead moved so that he could look into her face. Even in the relative darkness of the theater, his eyes met hers and she felt that invisible connection between them. “I’m glad you did,” he said. “Are you close with her now?”

Betty shook her head. “No--and I know this sounds awful, after what you said about _your_ mother, but...I sort of ran away from her, after graduation.”

“That’s reasonable,” he replied gently.

“Sorry, I’ve never really told anyone about any of that. I guess it feels good knowing that you know, now.”

Jughead’s expression softened. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said.

Betty tilted her head up the short distance she needed to kiss him. She felt like an albatross had fallen away from her, a burden she’d been quietly carrying all of her life that had found its release at last. When she pulled away, she whispered, “Thank you for listening.”

He squeezed her a little bit, returning her sign of silent support. Then he said, “Did you have a high school boyfriend, then? Or was that not allowed?”

She stiffened in surprise, glancing up at him. Betty felt her face color immediately. “Not really,” she replied, glancing over at the screen in thought. “I think that, after Polly, my mom was worried that the same thing would happen to me. For years, she sabotaged any interest I had in dating anyone. Whenever friends got close, my mom would attack and scare them away.”

Betty had always been embarrassed about that time in her life. She understood, objectively, that the frustration she felt with her mother during high school was what led to her finally breaking out of her shell in college, but it just felt like so much time wasted looking back. This was a conversation that she did have with a few boyfriends, and it never seemed to end well. Worrying her bottom lip, she looked curiously at Jughead and wished the theater was lighter so that she could gauge his reaction.

“I was a loner in high school, actually,” he replied easily. “Actually, I was so weird, hardly anyone aside from Archie even talked to me.”

She blinked in surprise. “I can’t picture that,” she said.

“I’m not exaggerating. I was always sulking around and being sarcastic to everyone. Before I joined--” he paused quickly, and she looked up at him. Realizing that he couldn’t take it back now, he reluctantly continued, “Before I joined the Serpents, I’m lucky I wasn’t bullied to death.”

With extreme caution, Betty carefully said, “Is that why you joined?”

The question hung between them. Looking away for a long while, Jughead finally said, “I think I have to explain that another time.”

She wasn’t completely surprised that he shut down. To lighten the mood, she replied, “Then I’ll tell you how many boyfriends I’ve had another time, too.”

His eyes flew to her face. “Really?” Jughead asked, his brows rising. “But wait--how many?”

Betty looked at the screen and raised a finger to her lips. “Shush,” she whispered. “Are you one of those people who talks through the whole movie?”

In response, he shoved the armrest between them aside and _tickled_ her. Betty squealed and fought her way out of his grasp, giggling. She finally caught his wrists in both hands, throwing one leg over his lap so that she could hold his arms over his head and catch her breath. Narrowing her eyes at him, she yelped in surprise when he suggestively tweaked his eyebrows and bucked his hips beneath her.

“You better tell me, or I’ll do it again,” he warned.

Betty shook her head, her grasp on his arms still firm. “Never,” she retorted, tightening her fingers. 

With a twist of his wrists, he slipped out her clutches and immediately worked his fingers below the hem of her shirt. As he made his attack and tickled her, Betty felt something within her clench at the feeling of his slightly rough, warm hands on her skin. She tried again to catch his wrists, but he kept slipping out of her grasp. When he stopped, her face was flushed and she was panting as she looked down at him.

Then his hands were gliding over the curve of her hips, pulling her closer until they slid into the waistband of her dress pants and over her rear. Something within her went blank as his hands wandered, and she pushed herself down until her core was rubbing against him, her eyes fluttering closed. Like that, she was completely unprepared when he leaned forward and gently bit the curve of her neck.

What had been a gentle twist of desire ignited and became a wildfire. Heat seared throughout her body, consuming her. She ground over him again as she searched for the friction that would provide some relief. It was just as bad as their encounter at her house the day before--and maybe even worse. 

Then Jughead lifted her off of him and set her back in her chair, eyes unfocused, his breathing heavy. She was unmoored, dizzy with need and confused by his reaction. Then he looked over at her and said, “Fuck, Betty, you’re going to kill me. I’m at _work_. Let’s at least go to your place.”

She blinked, some semblance of rational thought returning to her. Instantly, she was mortified. They were in a theater--granted, alone in a dark theater, where no one else was likely to interrupt or discover them--but still, they were in _public_. She would never consider doing something like this, not in her wildest dreams. Betty was utterly terrified that she’d become so lost, so intoxicated with the feeling of his hands on her. It was a very good thing that Jughead retained enough decency to stop her.

“Six,” she said.

He looked at her in pure confusion for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. “Boyfriends?” he asked.

Betty raised her shoulders and narrowed her eyes speculatively, then replied, “None of them were really long-term things, so I don’t know if that counts.”

Jughead seemed even more surprised by that. “None?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “Why not?”

She smiled ruefully, glancing at the screen. “I’ve been very focused on my job, and making it work,” she admitted. “I’ve seen a few people casually, but...I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that I felt differently about you.”

He nodded, his face breaking into a smile. Jughead slipped his hand into hers and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I think I know exactly what you mean,” he said.

That made her ridiculously happy. Feeling like she was grinning stupidly at him for far too long, she asked, “How about you?”

Jughead rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and said, “Betty, love, we already established that I was a weirdo. And I’m sure you don’t know this, but there’s not a lot of dating that goes on in prison.”

Feeling a little thrill at the term of endearment that slipped easily from his lips, she laughed in response. “Really, Jug? No one?”

He shrugged. “Try not to sound so surprised. Toni and I fooled around for a while, but it was definitely not what you’d call _dating_. I wasn’t really interested in anyone seriously.”

She looked at the screen, briefly trying to summon the courage to say what she wanted to say. Before she could hesitate too long, she blurted, “And what about now?”

For a moment, Jughead seemed to pretend like he hadn’t heard her. When Betty saw him looking off, she leaned over and gave him a pointed look, crossing her arms in mock anger.

Jughead laughed at her and pulled her close, nuzzling his nose against her cheek before he whispered in her ear, “I think I’m _seriously_ addicted.”

Was it possible for a single person to have the ability to make her smile so much? “It sounds like you need some professional help with that.”

He left small kisses in a trail along her neck. “Know anyone that can help?”

She cupped his face in her hands, her heart full, and said, “I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't they so sweet?
> 
> It's been a hellacious week for me. Like, utterly the worst. I needed a little bughead romance in my life, and I hope you did too. :) 
> 
> I so appreciate seeing all of your comments, let me know what you think about these new developments. <3


	10. Disagreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter starts off in a tough place for Betty and Jughead, but it gets resolved. Hang in there. :)
> 
> Thank you again, everyone, for all of your support! And much love to my beta readers, Squids and Evie! Reading all of the comments on this story is always so exciting. <3

On Saturday, the phone on her desk rang unexpectedly, cutting through her thoughts as she updated her notes. No sooner than Betty had taken it out of the cradle and raised it to her ear was Officer Blossom nearly shouting at her.

“Cooper—parking lot— _now_.”

The line went dead. 

Would there ever be a week of her life where she didn’t experience this overwhelming feeling of dread? Betty shot out of her chair and rushed out of her office.

Ethel met her in the hall, physically stopping her from reaching the stairwell. “Oh, Betty, I was just coming to find you. Some of your clients are fighting outside, and I--”

“Not now, Ethel,” Betty snapped, pushing past her. 

Her colleague’s words rang in her ears, fighting to overtake the faint buzzing that had begun shortly after Officer Blossom’s phone call. Betty flew down the stairs, bursting into the mid-morning sunlight, quickly finding the small cluster of people shouting near the back of the lot.

As she approached, she was relieved to see that it was mostly Tall Boy who was doing the shouting. Jughead, to his credit, was standing stoically and allowing the older man to hurl all manner of obscenities and insults at him, only responding occasionally. Officer Blossom felt the need to add her own voice of dissent to the scene, shouting at Tall Boy to cease. In general, it was a cacophony of sound.

When Betty approached, all three of them turned to look at her. Tall Boy rolled his eyes visibly, Officer Blossom glared, and Jughead looked apologetic. Worrying about what she was walking into, Betty sharply asked, “What’s going on here?”

Officer Blossom turned to her. “Will you take _that_ idiot into the building, Cooper, so that I can handle this one?” She dipped her head toward Jughead and Tall Boy respectively. “Just keep him in your office until I can get a statement.” Betty nodded, unable to do anything other than turn around and march straight back into the building. Jughead followed like a troublesome shadow, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

As they passed through the hall together, Betty saw Ethel standing near the copy machine and watching their progress attentively. She wondered what she’d done to become a worthy subject for office gossip, since that was surely why her colleague was paying such close attention. Was it, as Ethel suggested, a glow of happiness? Hopefully her expression as Jughead trailed behind her was enough to lay _those_ suspicions to rest.

Once they were in her office, and the door was closed, Betty rounded on Jughead immediately. “What happened?” she snapped, frowning. She could only think of one reason that Jughead and Tall Boy might have met in the parking lot, close to Tall Boy’s scheduled appointment time, and it most definitely wasn’t an accident.

Jughead returned her frown, his hands still stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. Maintaining eye contact, he looked at her and carefully said, “I’m not going to lie to you.”

With those words, all of the worry that she’d felt after receiving Officer Blossom’s phone call transmuted quicky into frothy, bubbling fonts of anger. She narrowed her eyes, staring at him and waiting for him to explain. When it became apparent that Jughead had chosen to say only _that_ , and nothing else, Betty arched an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly.

“I can’t just do nothing, Betty. Not when--” he hesitated, seeming to look for the right words. Finally, with an air of frustration, he said, “--not when I could easily deal with him.”

Was it an ego thing, she wondered? Sure, Jughead must be strong in his own way, but Tall Boy was built like a tank. Betty remembered some of the details from Jughead’s file, notes about his scars. She wondered how many he’d gotten because of people he could _easily deal with_. 

“I can, too!” She argued, setting her hands on her hips. “I asked you to let me handle this, Jughead. And so, what did this accomplish? Are you going back to jail? Did you violate your parole?”

He scoffed at her. “Like I would be that stupid,” he snapped. “I didn’t _touch_ him, or _threaten_ him. I just gently _reminded_ him of some things that he was apparently locked up too long to remember.”

Betty took a step forward, hands still braced on her hips, her fingers sinking into her own waist in an unconscious effort to alleviate some of her frustration. Glaring up at him, she enunciated each word like its own sentence. “What. Things. Did. He. Forget?”

Jughead’s eyes widened in slight alarm, like he hadn’t been expecting her to be angry at all, or capable of taking the offensive in this conversation. Looking somewhat helpless, he glanced over at the closed door of her office before turning his eyes back to her face. For a second, she thought that he was going to tell her. But then something shifted in his jaw, a steely look overtook his eyes, and he took a small step back. “I need to smoke,” he muttered, looking over at the door again. “Can Blossom not get this over with any faster?”

She wasn’t letting him get away that easily. Stepping forward again, Betty raised an index finger and poked him in the chest. “Forsythe. Pendleton. Jones.” she snapped furiously. “What are you not telling me?” Then, deflating a little at the mingled expression of frustration and hurt that crossed his face, she added a little more softly, “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Maybe the pleading note in her voice was what got through to him, finally. He looked at her with a clouded expression. “I told you when we met; my life was over a long time ago. It’s too late for help.”

The gentle tone, with his utterly hopeless words, combined as the perfect formula to bring tears to her eyes. Still angry, still confused, but mostly heartbroken that he thought he needed to keep shutting her out, Betty drifted behind her desk and sat down in a daze. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she tried to pull herself together, focusing on the fact that Officer Blossom would be coming through the door at any moment. She needed to be at her professional best. Reaching over for the tissue box on the edge of her desk, Betty quietly dabbed her eyes.

Jughead moved restlessly, almost pulling out his own hair with the force that he ran his fingers through it, and then shoving his hands into his pockets again. When she reached for the tissues, his deep blue eyes followed her hand and his expression riddled with guilt. Sinking onto her couch, he propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. 

When she arrived a few moments later, Officer Blossom found Betty seated at her desk and tapping a pen aimlessly against a blank sheet of paper, while Jughead bounced one leg restlessly and stared at the floor like a man condemned. 

She stuck out one hip and put her hand on her uniform belt, frowning over at her charge. Betty froze as she waited for the red-haired woman to speak. Her mind kept running over every worst case scenario that might unfold, working so quickly that her thoughts melded together into one utterly overwhelming sensation of dread. “Mr. Jones,” Officer Blossom snapped, her eyes flashing. “Mr. Petite told an incredible story.”

Jughead glanced up at her. His eyes were blank, like he expected the worst news of his life was coming. Betty realized that she’d hardly breathed since her colleague arrived in her office, and she surreptitiously forced herself to draw air into her lungs. 

Then Officer Blossom said, “You’re just lucky that this building has closed-circuit security footage of the parking lot.”

As Betty processed what that meant, Jughead’s entire demeanor lightened. He straightened, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips, his eyes flicking toward Betty and back to Officer Blossom in relief. “What does that mean?” he asked, even his tone sounding hopeful.

Officer Blossom rolled her eyes dramatically. “It means,” she snapped, “that I have a lot of paperwork to do. Gerald Petite violated his parole for the second time today by lying in response to a direct question. Ms. Cooper, my apologies, but it looks like he’ll be removed from your caseload immediately.”

Though that meant Weatherbee had most certainly been right, and she’d have to spend a few hours filling out reflections on why their meetings went poorly, Betty couldn’t help feeling relieved, too. She immediately felt ashamed for that relief, when it came down to it, since she hadn’t been able to reach Tall Boy like she’d successfully helped her other clients. It was also the look on Jughead’s face, when he’d been certain that Officer Blossom was going to send him back to prison for this parking lot encounter he’d set up on Betty’s behalf...she knew that this was really going to haunt her. What if she’d not only failed one client, but managed to make the other so absolutely reckless that he’d sacrificed himself for her? 

As Officer Blossom quietly reminded Jughead of their next scheduled appointment, and verbally warned him to stay out of trouble, Betty’s heart was growing heavier by the second. She absolutely could _not_ allow Jughead to do this sort of thing again. In her line of work, inevitably she was going to cross paths with people like Tall Boy. As much as she was growing to truly care about Jughead, as powerful as her feelings were--stronger for him than she’d felt for anyone before--Betty knew that he had another month in her program, and then another ten and a half months of parole. 

Could she reasonably promise herself that this sort of thing wouldn’t happen again? Would she be able to live with herself if Jughead went back to prison because of her? Betty swiveled her chair toward the computer monitor so that Officer Blossom wouldn’t notice her eyes filling with tears again. The answer she most consistently reached was _no_ , and it was tearing her apart inside.

“Sorry about this, again, Ms. Cooper,” Officer Blossom was saying, and Betty realized that she had been talking for a while Betty was lost in her thoughts. “We’ll have our usual meeting at seven-thirty on Monday, and we can discuss this then.”

With that, she dismissed herself from the office, pulling the door closed behind herself with a bit of a slam. 

Jughead looked over at Betty, and she made the mistake of meeting his eyes. Feeling some of her resolve crumbling, she made herself speak her mind before she lost it completely. “I can’t do this, Jug,” she whispered, feeling her eyes well up again. This time, without the certainty that someone would shortly be joining them, she didn’t bother to fight it. 

“What do you mean?” he asked warily, his expression guarded. 

Of course--she realized when she saw him looking at her that way, like he’d looked in the theater, that he’d _just_ told her about his childhood. About the way his parents had repeatedly abandoned him. It clicked in her mind--if she did this, if she cut things off between them, would he think that she was abandoning him, too? 

“I can’t trust in _us_ if you’re going to do things behind my back that might get you sent back to prison. I thought we’d talked about how we were feeling the last few days, and we agreed,” she paused, feeling some of the tears start to run over her cheeks. “I can’t lose you.”

He crossed her office in a second, kneeling in front of her chair and taking her hands in his. Looking up at her, he pressed his lips against one of her palms, and then the other. His tenderness turned her tears from a trickle to a flood. She sniffled as she saw the droplets falling on their wrists and hands. “You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Betty shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed for a moment to stop the tears. “Jug--you have to let the law protect me,” she argued, trying one last time to make him see.

He stood, pulling her up from her chair until she nearly collapsed against him, releasing her wrists and fitting his hands around her waist to support her. Pressing his lips against her forehead, he said, “Betty, the law has never protected anyone from anything that someone wanted to do badly enough.”

In any other situation, she might have laughed. It was _such_ a typical thing for someone in his situation to say, someone who had been repeatedly marginalized and attacked by the law. In contrast, Betty’s life _had_ been charmed, at least where her privileges were concerned. 

Instead, she looked up at him and drew in a shuddered breath, trying to reign in her emotions. She focused on trying to see the situation from his perspective, to figure out why he seemed hurt that she’d gotten upset regarding his intervention with Tall Boy. It was clear from the things he’d said that Jughead felt like he was protecting her. In that light, Betty could understand why he seemed hurt that she wasn’t more appreciative. 

And what were her options? She could cut things off, relegate them to a strictly professional, working relationship until they were done with their sessions, or until he was released from his parole. Or she would just have to accept that this was how it was going to be, that he’d become involved in her battles, whether she liked it or not. Even just a few weeks ago, Betty would have found that option extremely displeasing. But now, wrapped in Jughead’s arms and sniffling because she’d thought for a brief moment that he was going to be sent back to prison, it was sounding more reasonable than she’d expected. Desirable, even. 

Betty had been fighting her way through life for so long. She’d battled her mother, her town, her supervisors… never once had she had someone by her side, whom she trusted, that she could rely on implicitly for support. Even Veronica was living her own life, offering Betty friendly conversation and advice here and there, but not truly walking at her side.

Was it crazy to think that, after two weeks of really knowing him, Betty felt like Jughead was the sort of person who would stay by her side no matter what? 

Did she care if it was?

As she found some of her steadiness and straightened in Jughead’s arms, he carefully let her go and brushed both of her cheeks with his fingers, wiping away her tears. It was almost enough to make her cry again, but she didn’t. Looking into his deep blue eyes, Betty finally let herself _relax_ , pushing her reservations about what was happening between them aside. Hadn’t she been working hard all of her life? Hadn’t she always followed all of the rules, always been the best, always smoothed away the flaws in her life until nothing but bland perfection remained? Standing up to her mother was supposed to _change_ all of that.

And if he were to end up serving the rest of his sentence? Well, she’d waited most of her life. She could wait one more year, couldn’t she?

Betty didn’t need to tell him that she’d decided to give _them_ a chance. She didn’t need to say that she’d understood. Looking into his eyes, she could tell that he saw it himself. A small smile tugged the corners of her lips, and she felt as if something settled deep into her soul in that moment...a Jughead-shaped patch for a hole she hadn’t known existed.

“I feel it, too,” he whispered.

She stretched up and kissed him, burying her fingers in his hair and pulling him down until he was exactly where she needed him, not worrying if she was hurting him--she knew that he could take it. Jughead turned her slightly, so that her desk was pressed against the back of her thighs, her leg nudging the rolling office chair away into a corner. She didn’t care as his hands gripped her rear and lifted her onto her desk, sending trinkets clattering to the ground. When he stepped between her knees and slipped his arms behind her, leaning her back to deepen their kiss, she slid her hips forward until she found him.

He broke away from her mouth, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth, and smirked at her. “Not right now, naughty girl,” he growled.

Betty blinked, her thoughts hazy, her face flushed with desire. He was right--much as she might have wished otherwise. Still grinning as he stepped away from her, Jughead helped her stand and watched as she straightened her clothes. 

Looking over at him, she said, “Feel like picking up some takeout for dinner?”

Jughead sighed and shook his head. “I promised Archie and Fred we’d do a thing tonight,” he said regretfully. Then, looking inquisitively at her, he added, “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you came.”

Would that make all of this too real, she wondered?

“Maybe another time,” she said softly. “I’m just going to go home and relax. You have fun.”

He didn’t press. With another gentle smile, he said, “Don’t work too hard.”

Betty kissed him goodbye and watched him go, settling down into her chair again and queueing up her email. Nothing related to today’s situation, yet, which was honestly a relief. But she might as well get started now on the reports she knew would be coming.

Typing quietly, Betty focused on her job. It was a welcome mental rest from the tumultuous problems she’d thought through earlier. Simply describing observations, what had been said, and her professional recommendations became so cathartic that she lost herself in the task. She’d edit on Monday, once Weatherbee asked her to close out Tall Boy’s file.

Walking to the printer, she glanced out the window at the parking lot. Betty’s eyes quickly found Jughead at the back of the lot, leaning against his motorcycle, a cigarette perched between his lips. She looked away quickly before she smiled at the sight. 

It was dusk by the time she left the building, and Jughead was long gone. If she detected the faint aroma of cigarette smoke as she stepped outside, she was certain that it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Betty stopped at the grocery store on the way home, picking up a tray of pre-made sushi and some fresh fruit. After some deliberation, she also bought two bottles of red wine. It had been a stressful day, she reasoned.

Once she was home, she put on the TV for noise and went upstairs. Betty took a long, hot shower, letting the water relax her muscles, envisioning that it was rinsing away all of the tension she’d built up during the day. She paid a little bit of extra attention shaving her legs, and once she’d stepped out into the steamy bathroom she rubbed lotion over them and along the backs of her arms. She found a cucumber face peel in her bathroom cabinet and spread it over her forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Wrapping her hair in a towel and pulling on her jersey robe, she slid her feet into her fluffy slippers and made her way back downstairs. 

Betty relaxed on her couch with a glass of wine and her little tray of sushi. She broke apart her chopsticks and picked up a piece, glancing over at the TV. As she did so, her phone buzzed.

Retrieving it from her purse, when she saw the message, she couldn’t help smiling. 

_Archie and Fred want me to bring home my girlfriend so they can thank her for the chili._

Biting the end of the chopsticks so that she could reply with both hands, she typed back, _Your case manager wants to meet her, too._

There was a moment after she clicked send that she felt a little panicked, wondering if he’d misinterpret what she’d said. But then those three little dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, indicating that he was typing back, and she relaxed. 

_Is that a no?_

She bit her lip as she looked down at the screen, thinking of the complications that might arise if Officer Blossom chose that moment to conduct an unscheduled home inspection as a part of Jughead’s parole. 

_Maybe not over there,_ she wrote. _You should invite Archie and Fred for dinner at my place tomorrow._

There was a longer pause. _Archie asks if there will be cookies._

Betty’s mouth curled into a smile. _Not for him, but maybe for you._

She looked back up at the TV and took a long drink of her wine. A feeling of warmth spread throughout her center, her fingers tingling slightly as the drink had its effect on her. She clicked through the TV options until she found a more romantic movie, relaxing as she turned it on.

It would be a sharp contrast to how she felt the following day at three in the afternoon. Betty had woken up early on Sunday to scrub every inch of her house, meticulously employing the housekeeping skills that her mother had imparted to her from infancy. While she usually kept a neat house, knowing that she would be hosting Jughead and his friends (well, by his explanation, friends that were practically his family) pushed her to go over everything a second time. 

She baked the lasagna recipe she’d learned years before, which she sometimes made and froze for herself. Betty made chocolate mousse for dessert, piping it from a bag into pretty little clouds in her nice parfait cups. Once the lasagna came out of the oven to cool, she set about making one last thing to bake before she put in the garlic bread. 

She tossed a salad of leafy greens, cherry tomatoes, onions, croutons, and peppers, setting aside her oil and vinegar dressing. 

With a final run of her vacuum cleaner through her kitchen, she checked herself in her bathroom mirror and straightened her ponytail. When Jughead, Fred, and Archie arrived, the house was spotless and smelled delicious.

Fred was a middle-aged man with dark, unruly hair and a close-cropped mustache and beard. Betty immediately liked him, seeing the creases around his eyes from smiling often. Archie might have been equal in height to Jughead. From what she could tell, he had inherited his dad’s naturally friendly face, though his bright red hair definitely set them apart. Betty knew, from what Jughead had told her about the way he’d grown up, that this was essentially his surrogate family. At least her first impression of them was that they were nice.

“Betty, this is Archie Andrews,” said Jughead, nodding toward the ginger. “And his dad, Fred Andrews. Archie, Fred, this is Betty--my case manager.” 

She smiled her warmest Cooper smile, politely shaking Fred’s hand when he stepped forward and offered it to her. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, “Please, come in.”

As they stepped inside, Fred inhaled deeply. “It smells wonderful in here. I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble for these two and I,” he said, nudging Archie with his elbow.

Like a bloodhound, Archie grinned and said, “Did you actually make cookies?”

At that, Jughead raised his eyebrows and looked curiously at her, his expression echoing Archie’s question.

Betty smiled and said, “Actually, I made lasagna, I hope that’s okay. It’s nice to meet you both. Make yourselves at home, I’ll just get everything put out on the table.”

She let Jughead lead them both to the living room, collecting the food she’d prepared and setting it out on her kitchen island. Betty’s dining table was large enough to seat four, but not to put all the serving plates on it at the same time. They’d have to serve themselves in the kitchen.

She took the cookies and garlic bread out of the oven, transferring all of it to baking racks so they would cool. 

When Archie, Fred, Jughead, and Betty were seated around her table and eating, the conversation turned immediately to Jughead’s younger years. Apparently, he and Archie had caused a lot of trouble in middle and elementary school, before Jughead ran into some harder times in high school. Betty made sure that she didn’t slip into her habit of questioning to uncover more useful information--that was absolutely not what this night was about. When she got up to start clearing the table, Fred rose quickly before her and held out one hand. 

“Betty, everything was excellent. I’m sure you spent a lot of time today cooking for us. Let me get the dishes,” he said.

She was surprised, but she didn’t protest. “Thank you,” Betty replied. “You don’t have to, though.”

Fred gestured her words aside, looking over at Jughead. “Show me where the towels are?” he asked. She wondered briefly if Jughead knew himself, but he got up and followed Fred into her kitchen anyway. 

Relaxing, she filled her wine glass with the bottle on the table and smiled over at Archie. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said in a friendly tone.

He laughed shortly and said, “Jughead won’t shut up about you at home. Actually, I’m glad we met, because now he can stop _describing_ you.”

Betty gasped a little in mock-horror. “He didn’t,” she said. “Was he accurate, at least?”

Archie nodded, taking a drink of his wine. “He’s always been better about putting stuff into words when he’s writing. Maybe I’ll search his room at home and find where he’s keeping his notebook, if you’re interested?”

She straightened and leaned over. Quietly, so that no one in the kitchen would hear, she said, “You aren’t allowed to leave before we exchange phone numbers.”

In that instant, Jughead emerged from the kitchen, a cookie shoved halfway into his mouth. Archie leaned back in his chair, taking another drink of his wine despite his amused grin. Betty watched in confusion as Jughead marched over to her and dropped down on one knee. With a mouth full of crumbs, he broke the other half of the cookie off with one hand and said, “Marry me, Betty Cooper.”

She laughed in response and said, “I see you found the cookies, Jug. Did it work?”

He blinked, swallowed, then said, “I don’t know yet, because when I asked you, I got laughed at.” Rising from the ground, Jughead finished the rest of the cookie in a single bite and added, “I would say so, yeah. I don’t think you’re ever going to be able to get rid of me, now.”

Archie interjected, “You didn’t eat them all before you came out here, did you?”

From the kitchen, Fred yelled, “No, I managed to save a few, but it was a close call.”

Jughead regarded Archie haughtily and said, “They’re not for you, Archie. Betty made these cookies for _me_.”

Laughing at them as they bickered, Betty got up to bring the chocolate mousse out of the fridge and survey the damage in her kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story is told from Betty's perspective, I'm highly amused imagining the Jughead and Archie interactions that have been going on outside of this story. Like, as anxious as Betty might be about something going on between herself and a client, who's betting that Jughead went home and gushed to Archie about his sexy blonde case manager? And after a few days, Archie's getting irritated about hearing endless descriptions of Betty, and then he's horrified when Jughead asks him to proofread some poetry that starts "sweet blonde angel, you walk in sunlight"... Maybe I have to write a coda after this is done lol.
> 
> Tell me what you thought of the way things played out in this one! :)


	11. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update this time! I stood up in a wedding this weekend, and there was so much partying that happened in the days before AND after...it was insane. And fun. Lots of fun. I only see a lot of those friends once a year, so it was a really nice time.
> 
> Second, prepare yourself for some information about Jughead's situation... :)

The next day, Monday, marked the beginning of their third, and final week of daily meetings. Betty looked at her agenda with a vague sense of dread. After this week, the schedule mandated that she and Jughead would meet once a month for three months, until he successfully exited her program. Assuming that he kept upholding the terms of his parole, he would be declared a successful case and she’d have to write a long report on the methods she’d used to improve his situation. 

It would go off to the county, where they would use the data to evaluate Betty’s position, determining whether or not her program was useful in transitioning prisoners back into society. Jughead would become one number that made up her statistical records, another quarter of a percent added on to her success rate.

In one sense, she was dreading losing the excuse to have prolonged daily meetings with him. She knew that sooner rather than later she’d be getting more case files, filling her schedule with meetings for other clients, and her work day would shift back to the way it had been before him. In another sense, she was relieved that their meeting period was almost over. That meant that, so long as she could conceal their involvement from anyone at the office for the following three monthly meetings, there would be no risk of Jughead getting reassigned elsewhere or removed from the program--and possibly sent back to prison.

They met in a coffee shop on the other side of town, and Jughead read her some classic gothic horror stories in a bad British accent while she laughed at him. He worked a closing shift that night and Betty snuck into the theater with takeout so that he would have something other than popcorn for dinner. She watched him eat in an office during his break. He was ten minutes late to start a 7PM showing because both of them were too absorbed in each other to check the time. Face flushed and lips bruised, Betty let herself out into the evening air and couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

On Tuesday, they met at the library and she went over some publishing basics with him. Jughead was a little more reserved than usual--perhaps because of the way that the librarian kept giving him irritated looks--but he told Betty later that he was really going to try sending out some of his work once he wrote a few query letters. They had that conversation while she sprawled across her couch, her legs across his lap, while he rubbed her feet--who cared about professionalism any more?

On Wednesday, Betty was sitting in her office and writing up a few observational reports after meeting with a new client. The door opened and a familiar figure stepped inside, carrying two coffee cups. 

She smiled, her heart filling as she recognized that Jughead was thinking about her in much the same way that she was thinking about him. It had been so long since she’d felt such a strong connection with anyone in her life, and it was getting more and more difficult to keep from looking foolishly happy as she went about her day. And then--Betty _really_ looked up and realized the person in her office wasn’t Jughead at all.

They could have had the same personal shopper, because this man was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans that she saw Jughead wear so often, it might as well be attached to his skin. Even their leather jackets were almost identical, except that his lacked the bit of red lining that sometimes peeked out from within Jughead’s sleeves. He cleared his throat when their eyes met-- _and he had Jughead’s eyes_ , those uncanny deep blue irises that always seemed capable of looking directly into her soul. With his slightly greying dark hair and the fine layer of stubble that covered his face, Betty knew immediately that this had to be the person she’d only spoken to once during a conference call-- _FP Jones_. 

He looked uncertain, and he held out one coffee cup like a peace offering. “Hi, uh, Ms. Cooper? I’m not sure if this is allowed, but I understand you’re the case manager working with my son?”

It was spoken as someone who knew how strong the family resemblance was between them--he didn’t say _my son, Jughead_ she noticed with amusement. Both could have been total strangers to her and Betty would have picked each of them out of a crowd as relatives. She smiled, wondering what had brought Jughead’s father into her office, and took the coffee he was offering. 

“Thank you, I am. And it’s allowed,” she said reassuringly, recalling that Officer Blossom had mentioned him having a criminal record of his own. That was why Jughead was staying with the Andrews.

FP cleared his throat again, shifting his weight. Betty gestured to her couch, which he sank onto gratefully before taking a long drink of his coffee. He looked just as uncomfortable as his son in her office, and again she glanced around wondering if there were any particularly distressing details she could adjust. Her other clients never reacted this way, she told herself. They must have-- _both_ \--very strongly disliked counseling.

“Sorry just to barge in like this, I should’ve called,” he apologized, his gaze returning to her. 

Betty shrugged one shoulder in dismissal of his concern. “I wasn’t very busy, anyway. What can I do for you?”

He adjusted his fingers on his coffee cup for a moment. A silence stretched between them, but Betty could sense that he was gathering his thoughts. With a small sigh, FP met her eyes and imploringly said, “How is my boy doing?”

She was surprised, out of everything that he might have brought up, when he asked _that_. Wasn’t he friends with Fred, too? Couldn’t he go to Fred’s office and ask the same thing? Why would he feel more comfortable speaking with a case worker--whom he had no connection with--about something so personal? Not that she minded, of course, but it struck her as unusual.

“He’s well, Mr. Jones. I can’t give you very many details, I’m afraid, because of confidentiality, you understand.”

FP nodded, like he’d been expecting that. He sighed again, looking off at her potted plant and re-collecting his thoughts. “We don’t speak much, Jug and I. Not any more,” he muttered.  
“I worry about him. I gave him too many responsibilities, left him too many things to take care of, when he was too young.”

She had the fleeting realization that, once again, she was learning more about Jughead’s past from someone else, rather than the horse itself. Her fingers twitched as she thought about picking up her pen, but she stopped herself. They shared enough other mannerisms that Betty wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stared at it until she stopped writing, too.

“I can let him know that you’re concerned about him. Have you asked his parole officer if you’re allowed to have any limited contact?” she suggested, thinking that Officer Blossom would probably allow the exchange of letters, if not a face to face meeting.

He shook his head. “Ah, no,” he said, looking away again. “I’m familiar with Officer Blossom, actually. Well, her father. I’d like to avoid the family altogether if I can.”

Betty’s mind stored away _that_ tidbit for later--she wondered if Blossom Sr. had been a parole officer, too. 

“Would you like me to pass along a message?” she offered, knowing that she was going out on a limb. Officer Blossom would need to find out about the contact, if she were going to take action against it. Whatever FP might say to Betty, she could easily relay to Jughead as a friend, not his case manager, and no one would be any wiser. It was a moral grey area, where policies and laws were concerned. And in this case, Betty felt like passing along a message between a father and son was more important than punishing two convicted felons.

FP looked up at her when she offered, hope flickering across his face. He nodded once, then said, “Tell him I’m sorry. I never wanted to get him caught up in all of this.”

She assumed that by “this” he meant prison, of course. Betty remembered suddenly that Jughead’s arrest record mentioned he’d been with another person--had it been FP? She unconsciously adjusted her ponytail as she thought, and FP looked off again while he thought of whatever else he might want to say. 

Abruptly, he rose from the couch. “I’ll get out of here,” he said quickly, looking away again. “Just--tell Jug that this is a chance to leave, if he decides to. He’ll know what that means.”

He left the office too quickly for her to respond. Betty sucked in a breath sharply. _She_ didn’t need to be told what it meant, either. 

She texted Jughead that afternoon and let him know that she was going to leave work an hour early. He responded that he’d meet her at home, once he made a quick stop. Betty tucked her phone into her purse and backed out of her office parking spot, singing along to her radio as she drove across town. In her mind, she was trying to formulate how she would bring up her visitor to Jughead, and wondering how he would react. 

Though they’d gotten to know each other very well over the course of two and a half weeks, Betty still hadn’t gotten Jughead to say much-- _if anything_ \--about his life in the gang. He’d shut her down whenever she asked about it. Other than admitting that the waitress she’d met in his diner--the same one he’d admitted to fooling around with long ago--was a part of the gang, he’d resolutely kept Betty in the dark. 

She’d worked with enough people to know a little bit about the Southside Serpents, of course. They weren’t the most violent gang in town, but they were known for dealing drugs and causing disturbances once in a while.

Betty sighed. She hadn’t asked Jughead about _that_ either. The drugs. His arrest sheet said he’d been caught with them, but Betty had never once heard him mention any issues remotely similar to those her other clients had faced. Generally, they went on about how frustrating it was to check for purity, how dangerous it was to carry them around, how difficult it was to keep the dealers from getting sticky fingers during their trades. 

Not for the first time, she felt like something didn’t add up where he was concerned. She pulled into her parking space, saw his motorcycle already parked next to it, and got out of her car. 

Jughead was sitting on her front porch, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for her to get home. She took a moment just to admire him, before he noticed her, taking in the way his hair was falling over his eyes, how even when he was relaxed there was a strength that radiated from his entire form, how he was casually lowering the cigarette from his mouth as he exhaled, smoke curling away from his lips and dissipating in the twilight.

When he noticed her looking at him, he smiled and snuffed out the smoking ember against the sidewalk, leaving the butt tucked into the edge of the landscaping her HOA maintained. She found her house key on the ring and moved to unlock the door while he got up. Before she moved out of his reach and into the house, Jughead caught her in his arms and pressed his lips against hers.

Betty smiled when he pulled away. “Have a good day?”

She’d only taken a few steps inside when he slipped his hands over her hips and pulled her back until she was pressed against him. He dipped his face into the hollow of her shoulder, inhaling deeply and nuzzling her skin. 

“It’s good now,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from the smoke. Feeling his breath run over her neck sent a pleasing shiver through her, which curled in her lower abdomen and filled her with the urge to press as much of her body against his as possible. She turned in his arms, letting him kiss the tender skin behind her ear--then moaning as he sucked lightly at it, feeling her knees go weak at the sensation.

“Jug--” she breathed, and he straightened to look at her. From what she could read in his expression, he thought that she was going to ask him to stop again. Reaching out and running her fingers over his clean-shaven jaw, she smiled coyly and bit her lower lip.

He groaned, unconsciously swiping his tongue over his lips in response, his hands tightening on her hips. “You’re so beautiful, Betty,” he said, in response to her intentional provocation. 

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him back toward her kitchen, not needing to explain as soon as he realized where they were heading. Grinning mischievously, she said, “What did you want to have for dinner?”

He quirked both brows up and quickly replied, “You,” in a tone that was three parts raw desire and only one part teasing. It was getting more and more difficult to stay focused around him, especially now that they were kissing and touching as much and as often as they could. Betty may have decided to give up on maintaining a professional working relationship with him--her feelings (well, _their_ feelings) far too strong--but she still felt that the relationship between them was far too new to complicate by taking any more big steps. Still, her heart swelled as he swiped his thumbs under the hem of her shirt, caressing her skin, and looked at her as if she defined him.

In response to what he’d said, Betty wrinkled her nose. “No really, Jug,” she said, her tone serious as she straightened. “Someone dropped by my office today, and I’d rather tell you about it over food.” She’d realized on her drive home that this would be the best way to discuss his dad’s visit--by softening what he’d said with food.

Jughead looked a little suspicious, but he let her warm up some leftover lasagna and pour two glasses of red wine. As she handed him his plate and a fork, he raised an eyebrow and said, “You know, years ago I wouldn’t even touch this stuff,” nodding at the wine glass. “Now I can’t, and I don’t think I even miss it.”

She straightened, horrified that she’d forgotten. Putting out two glasses of wine with leftover Italian just felt so natural--but of course, Jughead couldn’t drink while he was on parole. She looked at him apologetically, sliding his glass across the table to join hers. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice twinged with embarrassment at her mistake. “I’ll get you something else,” she offered.

Jughead gestured that she should stay in her seat, shaking his head. “It’s fine,” he said, a little awkwardly. “After seeing what drinking did to my parents, I used to think that I was genetically predisposed to let it ruin my life, too.”

Since he’d returned to their previous topic of conversation, she let it go. What he’d said was as good a transition as any, she thought. Betty drew in a breath and said, “Actually, speaking of your dad…”

Jughead quietly set down his fork, looking over at her. She thought that he was going to say something, but the longer he stared, she came to realize that he was waiting for her to finish her sentence. Betty took a quick sip of her wine, gathering her courage.

“He stopped by my office today,” she said, watching him for any sign of a reaction.

His face was a mask of impartial detachment. Somewhat cooly, he said, “Did he bother you?”

She realized that he was expecting her visit with his dad to be another situation like Tall Boy. Thinking of the way his dad had politely gathered his thoughts and expressed his concern for his son, Betty frowned. “He brought me coffee,” she stated honestly.

Something in his jaw shifted. “Was it good coffee?” he asked, his tone a little dangerous, and then she saw the hint of a smile on his lips. 

Betty pressed her lips together, annoyed that he’d been pretending. He grinned when he saw that she figured him out. “He was very nice, actually. He’s worried about you, Jug. And he told me to tell you something.” Jughead raised his eyebrows, his smile fading just a little as he waited for her to explain. When Betty said, “He wanted you to know that this is a chance for you to get out,” she paused, seeing the recognition in his face. “I assume he’s talking about the Serpents?”

He was surprised, she could tell that immediately. Whether it was because of his dad’s message or because of her subsequent question, she wasn’t sure. Jughead looked away for a long moment, like his eyes were seeing something beyond the walls of her little dining nook. 

She was quiet as he thought, waiting patiently until his eyes shifted back to her face. Betty didn’t want to push him unless he was willing to talk about his thoughts on his own terms. He’d closed up so many times whenever they’d approached this sort of conversational topic. She raised a bite of lasagna to her mouth, telling him without words that she wasn’t going to make him explain. Relief softened his expression immediately. “It’s complicated,” Jughead admitted. “You’re not wrong. There’s just a lot that you don’t know.”

He looked at her like he was expecting another round of twenty questions. Instead, she lifted her fork again, pointedly closing her lips.

Jughead flashed a small, appreciative smile. “I promise you, Betty, I’ll explain one day. But right now...with you, I’ve just been thinking that I might have a chance at living like my past is someone else’s story, of not letting it ruin anything...especially not _us_.”

The ferocity of that final, whispered word struck something deep within her soul. Betty reached across the table and slipped her fingers between his, meeting his pleading eyes with her own and trying to infuse her gaze with all the immense, terrifying affection she’d grown to feel for him.

“Jug,” she said soothingly, “didn’t I say that I’d get you a fresh start?” 

Though she’d meant to be reassuring, the words made him sigh heavily and glance away. “I mean it. There are a lot of things that you don’t know about me, Betty. Some of them...I would prefer that you never found out.”

She shifted so that she was holding his hand between both of hers. Frowning, Betty said, “I can handle more than you think. You’re forgetting what I do, Jughead. I’ve seen your records--what you’ve done is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve helped people work through.”

As he shook his head, his hair fell over his eyes. He still wasn’t looking at her. “Those records aren’t a biography, Betty. They’re just the official report of the times that I let myself get caught.”

Those words didn’t settle right in her mind, at all. They implied that he’d _allowed_ his arrest, and that he’d done other things which the law had never punished him for. Things that he thought would drive her away, or destroy the feelings that had been growing between them--which were getting to be more immense day after day, rooting more deeply in her heart than anything she’d felt for any person she’d ever known before. Betty felt like the intensity of those feelings was enough that she could forgive him for anything he’d done--and that, frankly, terrified her. 

In a whisper, she asked, “What do you mean?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Whatever he might have been thinking, she couldn’t begin to fathom, as he was still looking away. When Jughead spoke again, his tone was wavering, faltering, more uncertain than any words she’d ever heard leave his mouth before.

“If I tell you this one thing, will you swear that it will stay between us?”

Her breath caught in her chest, heart pounding almost violently as she nodded her assent.

He pulled his hand back, and she realized that he was nervously bouncing one leg up and down below the table. With a tremor in his fingers, he reached into his pocket and slid a cigarette out of his pack. He glanced briefly at her, his eyes asking a quiet question, and she nodded briefly again. Hand trembling slightly as he flicked his lighter to life, he held the fire to the end of the cigarette and took in a long drag. Exhaling, he looked over at her, his uncertainty and anxiety only marginally lessened.

“I need to know,” she said softly. Her words had another calming effect on him, and finally he seemed to gather his resolve.

“I’ve never dealt drugs, Betty. I wouldn’t let anyone touch that shit, but the Serpents need the income. I tried to stop it, years ago, but Sweet Pea was right. So I let him handle all of it.”

The way he was phrasing that--alarms were ringing in her mind at the implications of what he was saying, but she kept her lips pressed together and waited for him to finish. Jughead paused, nursing his cigarette again, and steadily met her gaze.

“He’s taken so many falls, for us, and my record was almost completely clean. I couldn’t let him serve time, again. So I took the bag.”

Slowly, to make sure she’d processed what he was saying correctly, Betty replied, “You mean, you were sentenced to spend two years in prison for a crime you didn’t commit?”

He sighed. “I didn’t tell you that to make you think more of me. I just...wanted you to know that they hadn’t gotten it right. Those records are such a tiny reflection of the truth.” Jughead took another drag of the cigarette, before he put it out on the edge of his plate. Running a hand through his hair, he looked away from her again. “I don’t deserve a fresh start, Betty. I chose this life when I was a kid, and running away now would make me just as bad as my old man. Maybe worse.”

She rose from her chair. Drifting around the table, she slipped onto his lap and slid her hands over his face, her thumbs tracing over the contours of his cheeks. Jughead hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around her, burying his face beneath her chin. She ran a hand over his hair, closing her eyes as she felt his arms tighten around her, like loosening his grip would let her vanish into the ether and leave him alone with the demons of his past once more. Pressing her lips to the top of his head, she said, “It’s your life, Jughead. You don’t owe anybody anything. You live it how you _choose_ to live it.”

She felt him shake his head against her, disagreeing. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he insisted quietly, his voice rasping.

“No, I haven’t been in a gang, Jug. But I know what it feels like to live your life for yourself,” she said. Betty nestled her cheek against his hair and added softly, “I want you to be able to feel it, too.”

They stayed like that, curled together, long enough that dinner became too cold to eat. It didn’t matter to either of them--some things were much more important than food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are definitely going to heat up between them within the next two chapters. 
> 
> Tell me what you think, I love seeing everyone's comments!


	12. Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this gets pretty steamy. Maybe this is why the story has an M rating. Partially. You've been warned, I guess. Enjoy! :)

Jughead needed time to consider what he was going to do, after hearing FP’s suggestion, and Betty respected that. After he left for the Andrews’ on Wednesday night, she gave him a little space and tried to focus on reading her book in the soft glow of the lamp on her nightstand rather than text messaging him until she fell asleep. Though she’d never allowed anyone to smoke in her house before, she found the faint aroma dissipating from the dining nook almost comforting. As her eyes closed, she could feel the phantom sensation of an arm thrown over her waist, and she was almost certain that her mind conjured the feeling because of that lingering, distinctly _Jughead_ scent.

On Thursday, he text messaged to ask if she would mind meeting the next day instead. Betty felt a pang of anxiety grip her as she read his message a second time. She immediately worried that she’d said something wrong on Wednesday night, something that had driven him away from her. Ignoring the court-mandated daily schedule they were supposed to follow, she gave him the okay, adding that they would have to spend twice as much time together on Friday as a joke, to gauge how he was feeling.

_I’ll take the day off_ , he responded almost immediately. 

Betty blinked, staring at the message. She felt a tiny bit better, since it seemed to indicate that he still wanted to spend time with her, but then she was forced to wonder what was going on. Betty hoped that he wouldn’t put himself in a situation where she would be hearing from Officer Blossom unexpectedly again.

She called in sick on Friday, letting Weatherbee know that she would reschedule her appointments for the day. Before she hung up, he said, “You have appeared to be the picture of health lately, Betty. But rest this weekend and let me know by Monday if you’re feeling like yourself again.”

She agreed and hung up with a feeling of trepidation, worrying immediately about the things Ethel had said. Did she seem that different, that even her boss had noticed a change? Betty lay in bed and worried her lower lip between her teeth, considering her behavior in her mind. She didn’t _think_ that she’d done anything unusual during the last three weeks--not in the office, at least. Was it like Ethel said--was she glowing somehow? Was she really looking like _a picture of health_ , as Weatherbee said?

She was still lying there when the clock rolled over to 8:07, and there was a knock at her door downstairs. Betty rubbed her eyes, threw her blanket aside, and forced herself to sit up. Sliding her feet into her slippers and pulling her robe over her silk pajamas, she went down to see who would be visiting at this unusual hour.

Jughead was standing on her stoop when she opened the door. Seeing her, his face broke into a large grin. Betty blinked--his appearance seeming completely different this morning. For one, his hair looked like it had been combed, lying much less tousled than usual. He was wearing a light button-down shirt over a white tee and stone-washed denim jeans. The most remarkable thing, she observed, was the lightness with which he was carrying himself--like a huge, invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And, he was holding _flowers_. 

Her hand rose to cover her mouth. “Are those for me?” she asked, her eyes widening. 

Closing the distance between them, Jughead slid an arm around her waist and smiled down at her. “Yes,” he said, moving as if he were going to kiss her.

Betty turned her head, mortified. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” she whispered.

Jughead grinned and kissed her anyway, his warm lips meeting hers with a sweetness she hadn’t been expecting. Betty relaxed in his arms, the anxiety she’d felt about scaring him away forgotten completely.

“We’re going on a date today,” he informed her, still beaming at her happily. “Wherever you want. I want to go to a place that makes you happy.”

Betty raised her eyebrows, surprised. Feeling his infectious happiness tug her lips into a reciprocal smile, she said without hesitation, “The beach.”

Jughead followed her into her house, handing her the flowers. With amusement, he said, “In April, really?”

She glanced over at him. “You said somewhere that makes me happy,” she pointed out. “I love reading at the beach more than anything.” She put the flowers in a vase and set them on her dining table, drawing in a long breath of their scent. If the lingering aroma of smoke still hung in the air from the other night, it didn’t bother her.

Jughead slipped his arms around her as she smelled the flowers, his fingers gliding over her silk pajamas and sending chills running through to her core. Nipping her earlobe playfully, he said, “Get dressed, and we’ll go. We can grab breakfast on our way.”

Betty turned out of his arms and smiled. “Okay,” she breathed. Knowing now that she had absolutely nothing to be worried about filled her with a lightness that made it difficult not to share his happy demeanor. She let him follow her upstairs, leaving him thumbing through the book on her nightstand as she gathered some clothes and went into the bathroom to change. The first thing she did was scrub her teeth, knowing that a date with Jughead meant a _lot_ of kissing, if she had anything to say about it.

Betty had grabbed her cute, matching lace underwear set. After a quick shower, she toweled off and slipped them on, already feeling excited about the day that lay ahead. She pulled a heather cami over her head and then buttoned a red checkered shirt over it. Tugging a cream-colored cashmere sweater over the button down, she made sure that the collar and cuffs were adjusted. A pair of skinny jeans that fit snugly over her hips completed her ensemble, and she walked back into her bedroom to collect a pair of ankle boots that would zip over the cuffs. 

Jughead was relaxing on her bed, his shoulders leaning against the headboard, as he read through her book. Betty glanced at the cover and blushed--she’d been halfway through a romance novel, and she knew that she’d left her bookmark near a fairly scandalous passage. When he saw her come into the room, he looked up and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” he teased, lifting the novel. “I’d be happy to bring some of this to life.” Betty sat at her vanity and began to quickly apply her makeup, ignoring his suggestion. Brushing her mascara over her eyelashes, she saw him put the book aside and move to the corner of the bed right behind her. Watching her in the mirror, he quietly said, “You’re beautiful.”

She clipped her hair back in a half-ponytail, using a simple golden barette to secure it. Satisfied with the way that her hair was falling in waves around her shoulders, she turned and smiled at him. “You mentioned getting breakfast?” she said sweetly.

He followed her downstairs and paused at the door, twirling his keys around one finger. “Would you rather take the bike or go in your car?” he asked. “It’s a little more than an hour to the beach from here.”

Betty had already thought of that. She produced her keys from her purse and said, “Let’s take the car. We can use your motorcycle when it warms up a little bit more.”

At the implication that she’d like to go on another date as far off as the summer, Jughead caught her and gave her another kiss. This one was a little more urgent, and involved a little more tongue, than the first. Betty wasn’t sure if she’d get through this day without having her knees collapse on her completely, if he kept kissing her like this.

She drove, setting the radio volume at a level where they could easily speak, and let Jughead direct her to a small bakery in town. Betty recalled him mentioning that he’d gotten her breakfast before from a bakery, where _Sweet Pea_ owed him a favor. As she parked, the thought occurred to her that the favor might have been owed in exchange for a two year prison sentence, and she looked over at Jughead sharply, wondering. He got out of the car and went inside, letting her follow behind.

Sweet Pea’s nickname was an oxymoron, she realized immediately. He exuded an aura of danger, a snake tattoo curling over the side of his neck, his height easily rivalling Tall Boy’s. As he towered over the bakery display and manned the register, Betty thought that he was easily just as intimidating. 

When he saw Jughead come through the door, he scowled. “I told you, no more free coffee and donuts, you freeloader,” he mumbled.

Betty smirked as Jughead produced his wallet, raising it into Sweet Pea’s line of vision. “You shouldn’t scare off your customers like that,” he admonished, his tone teasing. From the way they were interacting, Betty got the impression that they’d known each other for a long time.

The taller man rolled his eyes and began punching items into the register. “It will be 11.41 for your usual,” he growled, and added, “will that be cash or card?”

Jughead glanced over at Betty. “And whatever she’s having.”

Seeing Betty, Sweet Pea’s eyes lit up. He looked over at Jughead with a knowing grin, like he’d just guessed his secret Santa. “Is this the girl?” he asked, his lighter tone betraying his excitement. 

Betty smirked as Jughead turned a deep red and glared at his friend. “Will you just do your job and behave for once?” he grumbled.

Sweet Pea whistled. “Holy shit, it is. FP told me that she was hot, but I wasn’t expecting _this_ , Jug.”

The implication that Jughead’s dad had checked her out, and given an assessment of her appearance to a gangster, sent a jolt of anxiety through her and perhaps a little bit of revulsion. She turned her gaze to Jughead, who practically shoved his credit card into Sweet Pea’s face.

“Just a black tea and a cinnamon roll,” she requested quietly, feeling embarrassed as both of them looked over at her.

Sweet Pea nodded, still grinning as he punched her order into the register. He took Jughead’s card and swiped it, then gave it back. Turning to prepare their drinks, he said over his shoulder, “Okay, I approve. I take back what I said.”

Jughead was still glaring, but his blush had faded by then. Sarcastically, he snapped, “As if you had any say in it.”

Setting down two travel cups on the counter, Sweet Pea grabbed a bakery tissue with a flourish and slid open the door behind the display case to get their pastries. Looking over at Jughead, he said, “If you don’t bring her by the bar when you’re off parole, I’m going to kick in your door and haul you there myself.”

She might not have fully understood what they were talking about, but she understood that. With a small attempt at humor, she said, “That’s abduction and kidnapping, breaking and entering, and assault.”

Both men looked at her, Jughead immediately amused, Sweet Pea’s mouth dropping open slightly in surprise. With a laugh, Jughead looked over at the other Serpent and said, “She’s right, and you know it.”

Sweet Pea shook his head and looked at Jughead, saying, “You deserve each other. Get out of here, it makes me sick to look at you.”

Jughead and Betty picked up their orders and went back to the car. As soon as the doors were shut, he looked over at her. “I thought a lot about what you said the other night,” he said, his tone soft and serious.

Betty was already backing out of her spot, but she glanced over and saw the solemn expression in his deep blue eyes. Encouragingly, she said, “Did you decide anything?”

He glanced in the mirror at the bakery. With a small smile, he said, “Yeah. Sweet Pea wasn’t happy, but it’s not his fucking life.” The curse slipped in easily, as if he’d said the same sentence many times during the 36 hours since she’d seen him last. “Telling him about you might have made it worse, but...I think he gets it, now.”

Betty raised her eyebrows as she came to a stop at a red light, glancing back over at him. “Why do you think he changed his mind?” she asked.

Jughead reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing over her cheek. “Because, Betty,” he said gently. “No one could meet you and _not_ fall in love with you.”

Her stomach was suddenly filled with a fluttering feeling, a huge smile spreading over her face. Before the light could change, she leaned over and kissed him.

The car behind them honked, making both jump immediately apart. Turning her full attention back to the road, she took the familiar route down to Brooklyn.

When they reached Coney Island, the beach was virtually empty. That early in the morning, at that time of year, it was a much less popular destination than it would be by the middle of the day in July. She parked behind the public bays, her eyes picking out only a few people who were swimming in the distance, despite the chilly water. 

Jughead took her hand and led her to the sand. When they were close to the shore, he kicked off his shoes and sat down close enough for the waves to lap over his feet. Betty sat next to him, wisely keeping her shoes on. When the icy water finally surged close enough to touch him, he yelped and moved quickly out of their reach. She laughed at him, watching as he laced his shoes firmly in place. Betty leaned back and propped herself up with her elbows in the sand. She looked up at the nearly cloudless sky and smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin despite the chill of the breeze coming off the water.

When she glanced over at Jughead again, he was just lowering his cell phone and tucking it back into his pocket. He arranged himself behind her, so that she could lean back against his chest, and said, “I just had to take a quick picture...you’re so beautiful, Betts.”

She smiled easily and said, “Thank you. You know, you’re not so bad yourself.”

She felt him laugh, his chest rumbling against her shoulders. Leaning over so that his words tickled over her ear, he said, “That must be why you always look at me like you want to rip my clothes off, huh?”

A blush immediately flared across her cheeks. Glancing over her shoulder at him in indignation, she squealed, “I do not!”

He was laughing again, and he placed a kiss against her cheek before he said, “Of course not. You’re too professional for that.”

They watched the swimmers for a while, just enjoying one another’s company as the sun slowly drifted higher in the sky. Then he shifted until he was stretched out along her side, letting her nestle her head against his shoulder and keep her hair out of the sand, one leg lying between hers as he curled onto his side and looked down at her. Betty easily looped her arms around his neck, bumping her nose against his playfully before her mouth met his.

Jughead’s tongue thrust against hers, insistently, as he seemed to relax with relief at the way the contact abated the ever-present tension between them. Betty’s eyes fluttered closed, her hands smoothing over his back and shoulders. Arousal flooded her, making her hips rise unconsciously against his leg. Jughead made a sound and pressed his knee down in the sand, allowing her to grind up against him as her body’s natural urges overrode all of her rational thought. When they parted to breathe, his eyes were still laughing at her, though they’d darkened with a similar need.

Panting slightly, she said, “We can leave the beach.”

Jughead smirked and teased, “I thought we were maintaining our professional relationship.”

In response, she lifted her hips off the sand, pressing herself against his thigh. She was gratified to see his eyes darken at the contact. With a small smile, she said, “Forget it,” and Jughead’s face couldn’t have looked more surprised. “I think if I don’t have your hands on me, like _now_ , I’m going to lose my mind.”

With a slight groan that she’d almost categorize as a growl, he scooped her into his arms and walked quickly toward the car. Setting her in the passenger seat, he reached down next to her and pulled the lever so that the seat would recline. With one knee on the edge of the footwell, he leaned over and slid his hands under the hem of her plaid shirt, fingers finding her cami and nudging their way below that, too. 

Betty could see her own flushed face in the mirror of the visor, which Jughead had left flipped down earlier. She let her head fall back against the headrest as his fingers worked in slow circles over her sides and stomach, the warmth of his palms steadily increasing the clenching heat gripping her core. He kissed her softly, starting at her lips but trailing softly along the line of her neck, pausing to suck the soft skin over her pulse. A moan slipped from between her lips, and she was suddenly terrified that someone would be close enough in the parking lot to see what they were doing, or hear the sounds escaping her.

Her worries evaporated the moment that Jughead’s thumbs brushed along the underwire of her bra. Betty felt a tingle spread over her breasts in anticipation of how it would feel to have his hands there, her breath hitching at the sensation. Jughead lifted his lips from her skin and looked up at her with a smirk.

“Yeah, you like that?” he asked, running his fingers along the edge of her bra again.

Betty whimpered, biting her lip as she met his eyes and nodded. At the sight, he leaned forward and kissed her, drawing the lip between his own teeth and squeezing to put just a little bit of pressure. She squirmed beneath his hands, shifting and trying to get him to move them up just a little bit higher, her mind going wild as she thought about his fingers playing over her nipples.

He gave her what she wanted, pushing her bra up and cupping her with both hands. Betty’s body jolted at the contact, as if her breasts were connected to her center with a direct line, making her clench again in anticipation of a different sort of contact. Jughead moved down, pushing her shirt aside so that he could breathe gently over her right breast, and Betty almost lifted it against his lips; she was so eager for what would come next. He looked up at her and smiled, one hand shifting to press her gently back into the seat, and said, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He lowered his mouth against her, pulling her peak gently between his lips and swirling his tongue around it. 

Betty felt a flood of warmth rush through her at the satisfying, mind-numbing sensation, and she was slightly embarrassed to realize that her panties were soaked. She couldn’t remember ever being with anyone who could make her body burn with such strong desire after only a little bit of contact. And, at that moment, she couldn’t ever remember being with anyone, _period_. Her body and mind were completely re-written with Jughead on every surface, she was drifting in a haze of pleasure as he pressed his tongue flat against her nipple and exhaled warm breath over her sensitive skin. Then she felt the gentle pressure of his teeth tugging at her, and she moaned so loudly that she was _sure_ they would be caught.

He raised his face and smiled up at her. “That wasn’t too much?” he asked, smirking. Then, looking a little bit more serious, he said, “If you want me to stop--”

She almost snarled when she interrupted and said, “Don’t you dare.”

He raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked her over. “Really though, it’s going to be difficult to do anything more in your _car_ , Betty.”

She knew that he was right, of course--but damn it, she wished that he wasn’t. Sitting up, she began to straighten her clothes. Jughead reached over her lap and snagged her keys out of her purse, kissing her gently as he straightened. 

He started the ignition and pulled forward, glancing over at her with another smirk as she shifted in the passenger seat, still uncomfortably wound up from his attention. Betty began to cross her legs, but he reached over and pushed her knee aside. Looking over and questioning what he was thinking, she was surprised when he ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh, trailing them slowly over the zipper of her jeans and glancing over again when he found the button. 

She was biting her lip again, harder than before, and she looked at him with wide eyes. With a little nod, she reached down and unclasped the button herself. 

Betty sucked in a breath as Jughead’s fingers played over her panties, searching for the edge. Keeping his eyes on the road, he tantalizingly slid his hand under the lace, cupping her whole sex before dipping a finger inward.

Her hips rose automatically, her hands flying out to grab a hold of whatever they could find--his arm and the side of the door. Cursing quietly to himself, Jughead glanced over at her and said, “Holy fuck, are you wet. I might change my mind about the car.”

He slid his finger over her, lightly at first, and then with more force as he found her clit. Betty realized that she was whimpering as he circled her, words steadily flowing from her lips as she begged him for more. She lifted her hips again, angling herself upward to make it easier for him to find the right spots.

Jughead’s finger slid carefully downward, finding her slick entrance, hesitating briefly before slipping inside. The palm of his hand pressed down on her mound as his finger curled, rubbing over the place inside her that made everything go hazy and warm all at once. She felt herself pushing upward, seeking the friction that she needed to keep building the pressure inside her, working with him to bring herself to the edge. 

When she felt herself starting to clench, she managed to stutter, “Jug--I’m--” 

“Come for me,” he growled back, fiercely commanding, and she let out a half-scream as she felt herself falling apart on his fingers. 

She was panting as he slid his hand out of her pants, her eyes unfocused, her entire body feeling more satisfied than she’d ever felt in her life. Opening box under the armrest, she found a napkin and offered it to Jughead with an apologetic look. He took it, balancing the wheel briefly with his knee as he cleaned off his hand. 

“I don’t know what to say,” she breathed, looking over at him.

That crooked, self-assured grin spread across his face instantly. “Thank you?” he suggested, teasing her. “Really though, Betty, this day is only halfway over. Just wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the rest of the date! And a little bit more honesty from Jughead... 
> 
> I can't believe this is already approaching the end! I don't want to be done with these characters. Once I finish my other WIP, I was thinking of coming back with a few codas...and maybe a larger sequel...hmm. We'll see how much time I have when I'm back to work in a few weeks. 
> 
> Thank you again for all of your love and support! I love reading your comments, let me know what you think! <3


	13. Labels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a little longer than usual to post! I had a few things going on irl that no one wants to get bored hearing about, but long story short, my laptop has been put away.
> 
> So this is the second part of the date that Jughead and Betty are on (far away from town, where no one will see them together). 
> 
> Warning: it gets a little explicit in this chapter! This ship is on fire.

Betty used her fork to knock Jughead’s away from the last bite of the chocolate cake, glaring at him. He mock-surrendered, shrugging and setting his fork down on his side of the plate that sat between them, his arm slackening over her shoulders. Just as Betty raised the fork in its path to her mouth, he made his strike--leaning over and closing his mouth around it instead, despite her giggling protest.

Jughead had suggested having dinner at a bistro with a typical American menu. Since they were eating somewhat early, in light of his eight o’clock curfew, the restaurant was still a little slow when they arrived. Betty and Jughead were led to a booth, and she’d laughed as he slipped in next to her rather than sitting across the table-- _the better to taste everything you order_ , he’d told her, only half-joking.

They’d been enjoying their day away from home, alternating between appreciating the slowly budding signs of spring and pulling over to kiss each other desperately as they made their way back from the beach. It turned an hour and a half long drive into a scenic adventure, but Betty didn’t mind. She couldn’t remember ever being so blissfully carefree.

Jughead swallowed his stolen bite, and Betty leaned over to press her lips against his, swiping her tongue across his lips. He stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into the kiss. When she pulled away, she smiled deviously and said, “I just wanted one last taste of dessert.”

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss her again. Before they made a scene for the waitstaff and other customers, he pulled away, running his fingers through her hair. 

“I think today might have been the best day of my life,” he commented, eyes meeting hers happily. 

Betty smiled and cuddled against his side, looking up at him. “Really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “The best?”

He nodded, gently pressing his lips against the top of her head. “Without a doubt. You make me feel like there’s nothing wrong in the entire world.”

Maybe it was the particular words he used, but something about what he said brought her crashing back down to earth from her euphoric high. She straightened, her brows drawing together, her smile fading. “Jug,” she said seriously, meeting his questioning eyes. “Technically, after Sunday, our daily meetings will be over. We’ll meet three more times, once a month, until you exit the program in July.”

He nodded, looking at her as if he’d known all that already, and he didn’t understand why she was explaining. “I know,” he said softly, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her.

Betty sighed. “I’ve been dreading it, actually,” she confessed, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I love having this excuse to spend so much time with you.”

His arm pulled her close again. Jughead looked at her intently, his eyes searching hers for some sort of unspoken understanding. Betty looked back at him, worrying that he’d think she was being too clingy. She wasn’t saying it, but she’d been worrying that he’d vanish on Monday, plunging them back into the realm of case manager and client without warning. After everything they’d been through together in three weeks, and the way that they were circling closer and closer to becoming something _more_ , something that was _them_ rather than _Betty_ or _Jughead_ , she felt like she was being silly. But still...so far, neither of them had said anything directly about it.

“I told you the other day, you can’t get rid of me, now,” he reassured her gently, pressing his forehead against hers. Betty closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, wincing slightly as he said, “I just thought you’d want to wait a while, before calling this what it is. Maybe until I’m off parole.”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “That’s too long. I can wait until July...but November…”

Jughead laughed shortly. “Yeah, I’ll be free at Thanksgiving. That will be perfect.” She laughed too at his wistful expression. Then he sombered and said carefully, “There’s something else I need to tell you, before you decide to put a label on the relationship between us, Betty.” She looked at him curiously, wondering what else he could possibly say to her that he thought could push her away. With a sigh, Jughead said, “It wasn’t exactly how I planned for this day to end, but… There’s somewhere I want to take you, to tell you. If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she agreed immediately.

They paid and went back to her car, and Jughead slid into the driver’s seat again, knowing where he needed to take her. Betty put on the radio and watched the trees fly by. She noticed that it was starting to get dark outside. They would need to get home sooner rather than later so that Jughead would be in on time.

It turned out that the place he needed to take her was near where they lived, anyway. She saw that they were driving toward the bad part of town as soon as he’d made a few turns. Glancing over at his face, she wondered what he needed to show her here, and why he still seemed so anxious about showing her this part of himself. A month before, she never would have expected that she would be going on a date with one of her clients, falling more and more in love with him with each passing moment, dreaming that they were together even when they weren’t. Whatever he needed to tell her, she knew that it wasn’t going to be able to erase their undeniable connection. Betty looked out the window and hid another smile, watching as her car passed by boarded-up businesses and ramshackle, blighted houses.

Quietly, Jughead said, “I needed you to see this, so that you would understand. This is where I grew up, Betty.”

She had been expecting him to say something like that, honestly. Her eyes picked out details in their surroundings that indicated a former glory, lost beneath the signs of dilapidation and hard times. She wondered how much he’d watched this part of town fall apart since his childhood.

“And this was home, until I was arrested,” he added, pulling his car into park in front of a trailer. Betty looked it over, noticing the motorcycle parked outside, her eyes picking out the silhouette of a person behind the glowing yellow curtains. Jughead turned toward her, looking hesitant, and sighed. “It’s not that I’m ashamed. Just understand, Betty...I’ve been sleeping on the same sofa bed since I was in middle school. My old man is an alcoholic, my mom walked out on us, and I haven’t known for years whether my sister is alive or dead.”

She put her hand on his leg to reassure him. Meeting his eyes, she said, “This didn’t give you many choices, did it?”

Jughead glanced away, looking up at the shadow in the trailer. “It wasn’t just this,” he replied. “I could have tried harder in school, gotten scholarships, worked my way out of here. Really, I made a choice back then that brought me to where I am today. It’s my fault, no one else’s.”

Betty shook her head, the corner of her mouth rising, and she replied “It might have been a choice that caused you a lot of pain, but if you’d done anything else, we might never have met. So it’s a good thing, in a way, right?.”

He laughed shortly, without humor. “Maybe,” he agreed. “I don’t know, maybe we would have met no matter what. I think I might feel that way about you.”

Her mind spun. _Soulmates_ , that was what he meant by that. But as soon as she thought it, something about it just felt _right_. Hadn’t she felt it from the moment he walked into her office, that something was pulling them together? Betty needed more time, she knew, to be totally sure...but she thought, maybe a month from now, maybe two, she would know. 

But looking at him, feeling her heart fill as she let her eyes trace the line of his jaw, her green eyes meeting his deep blue ones, she thought maybe she’d already had all the time she needed to be sure. 

“What were you going to tell me?” she asked, her voice soft, almost regretting that she was reminding him as soon as he looked over with a tortured expression.

He seemed to gather his courage. “The choice I made, Betty. My old man, he wasn’t just involved with the Serpents.”

She knew exactly what he was going to say before he spoke the words. Maybe it was months of clues, half-spoken or mentioned by people around him. Maybe it was the interaction he’d had with Sweet Pea in the bakery that morning. Or maybe it was something his father had said, without saying, when he’d come to her office to give her a message for his son. 

Betty reached out and took his face between her hands, caressing his skin, feeling like she could drown in the eyes that met hers and seemed to beg for her understanding--her forgiveness--her _acceptance_.

Almost so softly that she didn’t hear it, he said, “He led them.”

It all made sense in that moment. The way his father had guiltily said that this was his chance to leave, how he’d mentioned that they didn’t speak much...“You decided to take over,” she realized, the words tumbling from her lips. Betty didn’t need to hear him explain that he’d chosen to step into that role to _give_ his dad that chance. However, he’d chosen to justify his decisions to himself, it was already done. As he’d said, he’d made his choice years ago and it was something he’d needed to live with ever since.

Jughead looked away from her, even though she was still holding his face in her hands, his eyes flitting to the trailer for the briefest moment, an emotion softening those deep blue irises and drawing up his brows-- _regret_. He met her gaze again with effort, and the look she saw there nearly broke her heart. He was preparing himself for the worst, for her to run away, for another rejection. But instead, Betty pressed forward, sliding her arms around his neck, crushing her lips against his. She couldn’t undo the past, but she could certainly help him overcome it.

He melted against her, sighing with relief against her mouth, his hands curling around her, too. When they broke apart to breathe, he dashed quickly at his eyes with the back of one arm, looking away so that she wouldn’t see. Like a prayer, he whispered, “Thank you,” over and over, his smile strengthening with each invocation.

Betty leaned over, brushing her lips against his ear, and said, “Take us home.”

He drove away from the trailer park with her hand on his leg and her head against his shoulder. Betty closed her eyes and drank in the feel of him, absorbing his warmth, listening to his breath, inhaling that unique mixture of spice and smoke that made her feel like a sixteen-year-old dating her first love. When they reached her house, he had less than an hour before his reality would tear them apart again. Betty opened her eyes and acknowledged the clock, briefly thinking that she’d never looked forward to Thanksgiving so much until this year.

She didn’t let him go after they got out of the car. They were constantly in contact with each other as they made their way into her house--a hand on a shoulder, her arm against his, lips against lips or against skin or on clothing, but connected as if they’d been born to be like this. The door closed as an afterthought, because he was already pulling her sweater over her head. She was fumbling with buttons, pulling at his shirt, and he was having the same battle with hers, and they were laughing together at the absurdity in the height of their need. “Who invented these fucking things?” Jughead growled, finally freeing her, slipping her shirt away from her arms and letting it fall to the floor. Betty finally yanked his final button free, and he shook one arm out of his sleeve before he was pulling her cami up, and Betty was slipping it over her head while he shucked off the last of his shirt.

They were kissing intermittently, and once she’d pulled his undershirt over his head, there was no reason for them to part unless they were taking quick gasps of air. Her hands smoothed over him, feeling the movement of his muscles beneath her fingers, tracing over the soft down of his body hair, memorizing the feel of him. 

Betty felt his hands curl over her hips, felt him lifting her, not realizing where he was taking her until she felt the cool surface of her kitchen island below her thighs. He stepped between her knees and she reached down to unhook his belt, fingers scrambling to find purchase and unhook the button of his jeans, pushing them downward until he had to step back, smirking at her, and step out of them. “Oh my,” Betty muttered, seeing his arousal, a shiver going through her whole body in anticipation of taking him at last. 

Grinning at her reaction, he slid her forward by hooking his fingers through the loops of her skinny jeans until she slid off the edge of the counter. “Not fair,” Jughead said against her neck, nipping slightly as he unbuttoned her pants and pushed them away. When she was wearing only her lacy bra and panties, and nothing else, he pulled back briefly and look at her. “It’s starting to feel like I say this a lot, but _fuck_ , Betty, you are beautiful,” he said. 

She reached for him, pulling him back towards her, unable to be apart from him for too long, her body was electric and hot all at once with insatiable desire. She let him lift her back onto the counter, let him slide her panties away, and then she reached back and unhooked her bra with two fingers, quickly tossing it aside too.

When his hands slid over her naked body, she threw her head back and sucked in a quick gasp, shivering as she realized that they had hardly even begun what she knew was coming. “Jug--I need you,” she whimpered, her voice hitching as his fingers lightly tweaked her nipples, his teeth nipping at her jaw.

He slid her forward to the edge of the counter, slipping his hand down her body until it was between them, his fingers finding their way to her center and rubbing over the bundle of nerves there, making her buck forward under his hand. “How can you be even more wet than before?” he growled, looking up at her flushed face.

Before he could ask any other questions, Betty interjected preemptively. “I’m on birth control,” she panted, pushing herself toward him. “Please, Jug….” 

He reached down and gripped himself, one hand curled around her waist for support, rubbing his tip over her and sending a wave of burning anticipation coursing through her entire being. When he’d just barely pushed forward, finding her entrance, he let go of himself and looked up at her, expression suddenly tender.

“Betty--” he breathed, his eyes dark with need, his own face flushed. 

She moved her hips forward, slowly taking him, drawing him to her until he was buried fully inside her, tip stretching to the deepest part of her in a burst of pleasure that forced a gasp from her lips. Jughead looked at her searchingly, holding still, waiting for her to indicate that she was ready.

Betty slid her hands around his back, urging him forward. He slid back, thrusting forward slowly, so gently that she groaned and pushed herself forward again. “Jug— _harder_ ,” she gasped, the pace maddening after their race to this moment.

He gripped her hips with both hands and pulled her against himself as he pushed forward, bringing her to meet him with each thrust, until she was moaning and clutching at his arms, unable to stop herself from crying out. When he found her sweet spot, she yelped sharply and gasped for breath, whispering, “Oh _fuck_ \-- _oh god_ \--oh my god, don’t stop--oh, _yes_.” 

Jughead pulled out suddenly, and before Betty could protest, he flipped her over and pushed her forward until her breasts were pressed against the counter. Lifting her leg and hooking it around his waist, he pushed himself slowly inside her, his hand supporting her knee. The position made her feel as if he were filling her even more, or maybe reaching even deeper. Betty gasped, squealing his name with each thrust, crying out without language as he looped a fistful of her hair around his hand and tugged softly.

He ground out the words, “Is that what you needed?” as he drove into her core, sending an irresistible wave of pleasure though her. As Betty whimpered affirmative nothings, he released her hair and she let her cheek rest against the cool counter, closing her eyes as he pushed her closer and closer to her limit.

When he reached around her hip and brushed his fingers over her clit, her body reacted as if she were on fire. “Jug--” she yelped, her back arching, her leg pulling involuntarily against his grasp. 

He withdrew again, turning her so that she was facing him. Catching her lips with his, he pulled her to the edge of the counter and buried himself within her. The pace had quickened now, to a punishing yet extremely satisfying rhythm. Betty couldn’t resist wrapping her legs around him, angling her hips forward so that he would find the place that made her lose control. 

As he thrust forward, hitting that spot within her again and again, she felt herself tensing in anticipation of her climax. “I’m--you’re gonna--”

Jughead nodded, his thrusts becoming more erratic as she tightened around him. When she felt the first bursts of her release, she let her eyes flutter closed and she bit her lip hard enough to taste iron, moaning at the pleasure.

He pushed forward and stopped, buried deep within her, spilling over his edge as he saw her find hers. Both remained where they were for a moment, catching their breath, looking into one another’s eyes.

“Well, that was incredible,” Betty said, breaking the silence.

Jughead laughed, reaching up and brushing a piece of hair away from her face. “Glad you thought so, too,” he replied, grinning. 

The next semblance of rational thought that returned to her mind was that they were both unacceptably sweaty, and needed a shower immediately. As they untangled themselves from one another, she slid to her feet and glanced down at the counter. Her second thought was that she would need to bleach the kitchen tomorrow.

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her against him. Betty relaxed in his arms, grateful to have the chance to cuddle a little after the unexpected ending of their date. Then she felt him tense, and she looked up to see that he had noticed the oven’s digital clock. According to those luminous numbers, he only had a few minutes to get home on time. Jughead sighed heavily, looking down at her.

“I know,” she said, her tone just as remorseful as the look in his eyes. “But it won’t be like this forever.”

Jughead regarded her with an even more pained expression. “Betty, I have never _once_ done something like this and just taken off. I’m not that sort of person. I swear.”

She nodded, trying not to let herself get too emotional. The only thing that would make this worse would be tears. Looking at his chest instead, and trying to pull herself together, she was instantly captivated.

Of course, she’d noticed his tattoos the moment she’d torn his clothes off of him. Betty had been too occupied to really get a good look at them, though. The first thing she saw, curling just under his collarbone on his left shoulder, was a serpent wrapped over itself, its fangs poised over its own tail. Reaching out, she gently ran her finger over it, eyes wide.

Jughead caught her wrist in his hand, bringing her attention back to his face immediately. “Betty,” he said fiercely, “We’ll talk about this soon.”

When he moved his arm, she was unable to stop herself from noticing the massive scar on his upper bicep. It looked like someone had _skinned_ him. Of course, she’d seen the notes in his file about his tattoos and scars, but seeing them in person was so much more shocking than looking at measurements and short descriptions in print.

He was still holding her wrist, but he wasn’t hurting her. Betty’s eyes flew back to his, once she forced herself to look away from the scar. Then it was impossible to keep her eyes from filling with tears. “What happened, Jug?” she asked, her voice catching.

He sighed heavily and released her, glancing over at his arm himself. “Nightmares that I’d rather forget right now. It’s been a perfect day, Betty. I’ll explain anything you want me to, tomorrow.” He said it with such conviction that she couldn’t help nodding in response, agreeing to let it go for the night. Instead, she simply stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him, sealing his promise between their lips.

When he broke away, it was clearly with effort. Turning, he began to collect the clothes that were scattered through the house. Betty watched him pull on his jeans and undershirt, balling up the rest and tucking it under his arm. 

Before he left, he pulled her against him again and kissed her again soundly. She couldn’t help shivering at the feeling of his clothes against her skin, especially when he looked at her with an expression that was darkened again with desire but simultaneously torn by obligation. “I’ll be here in the morning,” he promised.

Once she was alone, Betty made her way to her bathroom and showered. She put on her comfortable pajamas, twisted her hair into a knot on the top of her head, and retrieved her cell phone from her purse. 

She poured herself a glass of wine and curled up on her couch, tucking her blanket around herself. Turning on the TV, Betty unlocked her phone and scrolled through her contacts.

She found Veronica and and called, listening to the phone ring and hoping that her best friend would pick up. Just when she thought it would go to voicemail, she got an answer.

“Hello?” her friend said.

“Veronica, it’s me. What are you doing right now?” she asked, glancing over at the clock. It was just past eight--people who _weren’t_ on parole still had plenty of evening left.

“Nothing I can’t do later, Betty. What’s happening?”

Worrying her lip, and realizing that she’d bitten it hard enough earlier to draw blood, Betty nervously said, “I think I’m seeing someone.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, what sounded like a sharp intake of breath before Veronica said, “I hope you’re at home because I’m already halfway there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn curfew, right? 
> 
> Thank you again to my wonderful beta readers, Squids and Evie! They have been so helpful in keeping me on track. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I love seeing everyone's comments, they really brighten my day. :)


	14. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe this is already coming so close to the end! Thank you everyone for your support on the last chapter. Again, my beta readers Squids and Evie are amazing, they've helped keep me in line so much on this project. :)

It was the sun that woke Betty before anything else. She was curled up on the couch. Blinking, she realized that she must have accidentally fallen asleep there--and her head was _pounding_. Used wine glasses and two empty bottles were staring at her innocently from the coffee table. Squinting at them, she remembered that she’d opened another bottle of wine after Veronica arrived. Since her driver would be taking her home, both young women felt safe to overindulge.

Rubbing her palms into her eyes, she straightened her legs. Then she realized that her body was sore, too--though from sleeping at an awkward angle on the couch, or finally having her way with Jughead, she wasn’t sure. Yawning, she stretched her body to its extremes, raising both arms over her head. 

That was when she heard the knocking, and she realized that someone was at her door. 

She got up with a renewed burst of energy, crossed the room, and turned the handle, expecting that it would be Jughead. But she didn’t notice that the clock above her flat panel said seven-thirty, and so she was unprepared to see a tall ginger acquaintance, instead.

Archie was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt beneath a bright blue windbreaker. When he saw Betty at the door, he smiled, and then grew visibly flustered as he saw her in her pajamas. 

Looking quickly away--and blushing--he said, “I’m sorry to bother you so early, Betty. But I needed to talk to you, and I didn’t want Jughead to find out.”

Her eyebrows rose, wondering what exactly he meant by that. But Betty had been brought up to have good hospitality, so she stepped aside and gestured him into her living room. Closing the door, she said, “ Give me a minute to change and I’ll be right back.”

She might have worried about letting a virtual stranger into her house, especially when she was only wearing pajamas, but Betty didn’t get any sense from Archie that he was here for anything other than business. Rushing up to her room, she quickly pulled on a change of clothes and dashed across the hall to brush her teeth. Glancing in the mirror, she decided to leave her hair in its slightly damp, and now messy, knot.

Archie was standing where she’d left him, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking mildly around the room. When he saw Betty return, he smiled apologetically. “I’m really sorry just to show up like this,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine, I would have been getting up soon, anyway,” she replied. Most likely when Jughead got here, she thought to herself. “What brings you over?”

He looked slightly uncomfortable, and Betty suspected that Jughead probably had no idea that he was here. Archie looked at her earnestly and said, “I just wanted to warn you a little--about Jug. Nothing bad, of course--he’s like my brother. But I thought you should know.”

Betty blinked, her eyebrows raising. “Does this have to do with the Serpents?” she asked, sure that Archie probably knew everything that she did at this point, and most likely more.

He shook his head, frowning. “No, not at all. But if you have questions about that, I guess I can--”

“Archie,” she interrupted. “It’s okay, I don’t have questions. What are you talking about?”

He drew in a breath. “Betty, you seem like a very nice woman. When Jughead’s around you, he’s happy. I can truthfully say that I haven’t seen him this happy in years.” His words stopped, but his tone had trailed off to indicate that there was something more to say.

Betty prompted, “But…?”

Archie was caught. He met her eyes and said, “ _But_ , Jughead doesn’t usually do… _nice_ , when he does anything at all. It’s always been that way, since high school. I just felt like I needed to tell you, because you’re in such an important position in his life right now, and I was worried that messing things up with you might mess up…”

“His parole,” Betty supplied, a line forming between her brows. Her eyes narrowed and she said, not with hostility, “Maybe _nice_ is what he needs, Archie. Did you think of that?”

Archie almost jumped at her words, his eyes darting toward the clock. He said, “I’m just worried that it isn’t, Betty. I’ve been there for Jug most of our lives. Everything we’ve tried to do to help him hasn’t worked. He doesn’t change.”

She tried not to sound too dry as she said, “Change has to come from within. I tell my clients all the time, it doesn’t matter what support network they have, until they’re willing to embrace a new life for themselves, nothing will help.” Archie might not have known it, but she might as well have read from a textbook. Softening her expression, she regarded him and said, “I’m glad that you came here to tell me this, though.”

Archie’s face lightened. “You are?” he asked.

She nodded, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth upward. “Yes, I am. It tells me that Jughead has all the support that he needs for this to work, _if_ he wants it to.” 

Archie understood, then. She could see it in his eyes. With a grateful smile, he said, “I hope he’s good to you, Betty. If he doesn’t get his life together this time...I’ll kick his ass.”

She smiled fully at his joke, though Archie was certainly muscular enough that he looked like he could make good on his threat. As she walked him to the door, she said, “I think I’ll help you do it.”

Offering each other amicable goodbyes, Archie headed over to his car and Betty went back inside. She went into the kitchen and pulled ingredients out of her fridge, starting to prepare vegetables for an omelette. She’d just whisked her eggs when the door knocked again, and Betty called over her shoulder, “Come in!”

She heard the door open and close, and the sound of someone walking toward the kitchen. A familiar voice said, “Do you usually leave the door open and invite people in off the street?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Only since I’ve started seeing a crime lord.”

He smirked and leaned against the counter next to the stove, looking over at what she was cooking. “Oh, are we _seeing_ each other now?” he asked, amused. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

She turned her spatula toward him, like she was going to poke him with it. “Well, what are _you_ calling it?” she demanded.

Jughead rolled his eyes. “I asked you first.” He reached over and plucked one of the tomatoes she’d chopped up from the bowl, popping it into his mouth. 

Betty looked down at the pan and felt a smile spreading over her face. She said, “You’re avoiding acknowledgement of your feelings, Jughead. That can be really dangerous, you know.”

His eyebrows rose instantly. “If only there were someone around that I could share my _feelings_ with,” he teased.

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, slowly, looking over at him as she did it. Jughead slipped his hand over her hip, pulling her towards him, his deep blue eyes meeting hers and telling her _exactly_ how he felt about her baiting. He lowered his head just slightly, and Betty naturally tilted hers, letting her eyes close in anticipation of the kiss she was expecting. Just as his lips started to brush over hers, he whispered, “You’re going to burn the eggs.”

Like that, he released her. Betty blinked, realizing that she was still clutching her spatula. She shot him a glare, turning her omelette before sliding it onto a plate. 

They teased each other in a similar fashion as they ate breakfast. Betty even made toast and fried a few slices of bacon to go on the side. Jughead made coffee in her often-neglected little pot, brewing her a cup of tea without being asked. After they ate, they returned their dishes to the sink.

Then he shocked her by sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the stairs, one arm under her knees and the other across her back, bridal-style. Betty laughed and threw her arms around his neck for support. “What are you doing?” she asked, as he started to take her upstairs.

“I’m finishing what I started last night,” he replied, pushing aside the door to her bedroom. Depositing her on her unmade bed, he didn’t hesitate to climb in after her.

Once they were cuddled together and he’d pulled her quilt over both of their bodies, Betty met his eyes. “I thought we were done,” she said mischievously, unable to stop grinning. 

Jughead’s crooked smile appeared, and he looked much too satisfied with himself as he took in those words. “I think we needed some of this,” he said, tucking her against him and sighing contentedly.

Betty let him hold her, entwining her legs with his below the blankets. She felt completely at peace--it was like he’d said before, when she was with him, she felt like there was nothing wrong in the world. Jughead’s chest rose and fell as he breathed calmly. Pressed so close against him, she could feel his warmth radiating across her whole body. She even closed her eyes and felt the thump of his heart against her cheek.

They must have fallen asleep together like that, for a short time. Or at least, she did. When Betty awoke, Jughead was sprawled across her bed, next to her. Sunlight was splaying in strips over his face and chest, filtering through the blinds. He must have gotten too hot and taken his shirt off after she’d fallen asleep, because he was only wearing the jeans he’d arrived in now.

Quietly, so that she didn’t wake him, she took advantage of the moment to peer at the scars and marks she’d only partially seen in the dark the night before. In the daylight, she could see all the smooth patches of tissue that littered his body, like constellations representing a classic Greek tragedy. Carefully, Betty propped herself up on her elbow and looked him over, wondering if one day she would know what had happened to cause him this much pain. Then, she wondered if she even wanted to know.

Surprising her, Jughead rolled over and threw both an arm and a leg over her. He sleepily pulled her to his side, mumbling too quietly for her to hear. 

She couldn’t resist gently smoothing his hair away from his forehead, drawing her hand back when she saw his eyes squeeze a little more tightly together. Blinking, he looked at her for a moment before recognition seemed to dawn on his face. 

“Sorry,” he said thickly, stretching. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”

She looked over at her clock. “It’s a quarter to eleven,” she said, surprised herself. “We must have been tired.”

Jughead groaned and closed his eyes again, throwing an arm over his face. “I have to go soon,” he muttered. “They’ve got me working today and tomorrow, and there’s a new kids’ movie out this weekend…I’m eleven to close.” Glancing over at her from beneath his arm, he said, “Can you write me a note?”

She traced her finger over his chest, amused. “I’m not a doctor,” she said, “I’m just your case manager. And I say that you have to go to work. You already called in sick yesterday.”

He moved his arm and looked over at her, smiling. “Worth it,” he said.

Betty swirled her finger over his tattoo, wondering if he was going to grab her wrist again. He didn’t. 

Jughead watched her quietly, his eyes moving over her face as if he were studying her. She let her finger slide over the _S_ shaped tattoo one more time, before she let her hand drift down his chest, fingers lightly tracing over a series of scars that looked too much like stabbings for her liking. As she found the trail of dark hair that led from his belly button downward, she let herself press just a little bit harder, glancing up at him as he groaned and shifted his hips.

She edged her fingers below the waistband of his pants. Jughead slid his fingers under hers, twined them together, and then moved her hand away. When she looked at him curiously, he gave her a suffering sigh. 

“If it didn’t take me ten minutes to get to the theater from here, I’d already have you screaming my name again, love,” he said, causing a fierce blush to cover her face. Betty bit her lip nervously, not trying to flirt with him, and looked away. The reminder of what they’d done the night before--of what she had said--made her immediately anxious that she’d embarrassed herself.

Jughead saw her blushing and rolled onto his side, lifting his thumb to brush across her cheek. His eyes echoed the happiness she saw in the curve of his mouth. Betty felt herself relax at his touch, telling herself that yesterday had been _perfect_. 

He reluctantly got out of bed, giving her one last lingering kiss. Betty walked him downstairs, feeling a sort of hazy happiness that seemed to permeate her entire mind, relaxing her body, like she’d stepped into a dream. And thinking about it--maybe she had. 

She spent her afternoon catching up on chores around the house, running a few errands around town, and generally thinking the entire time about the things Veronica had said to her the night before.

_Have you lost your mind? He’s a criminal, Betty. He’s not going to change for you. Your life isn’t a romantic comedy, it’s your_ life. _Did you tell him that you wanted to keep it professional, like we talked about? You haven’t slept with him, have you?_

_I think he is, Veronica. Changing. I’m telling you, this is different. I_ feel _different around him. Besides, he wasn’t even guilty of the crime that he served time for. He covered for someone else._

_Betty, I find it very hard to believe that daddy wouldn’t notice a web of lies that cliche._

_Well, it’s true, Veronica, whether or not you want to believe it. He’s telling the truth._

Her hand missed the handle of the gallon of milk she was reaching for, and she blinked in surprise. An old woman next to her tutted, waiting for her turn at the shelf. Betty looked over her shoulder and apologized, wondering how long she’d been standing there, lost in thought. 

Veronica was wrong, she decided, now that she wasn’t dizzy-headed from wine. Jughead had definitely changed, and that was her _professional_ opinion. Thinking of the way he’d come into her office, looking like danger personified, compared to the carefree, freckle-skinned, smiling man she’d spent the day with yesterday, he was almost unrecognizable. 

She bought her groceries and went home, putting them away with her thoughts, closing the door of the fridge and envisioning all her anxieties trapped inside. Jughead wasn’t like other people she’d dated, and maybe _that_ was what _she_ needed, too. Hadn’t everyone that Veronica ever set her up with ultimately walked away as soon as they’d gotten a glimpse of the girl beneath the pretty face and the blonde hair? What did she know about what Betty truly craved, anyway?

On Sunday, Betty woke up early and went for a run. With her earbuds in place, and her ponytail swinging back and forth, she made her way along the pathway at the park behind her townhouse. As she ran, she focused on deciding what she was going to do next. Having a plan for her life, a goal she was working toward, had always helped Betty to feel more anchored. Being with Jughead was no exception to that method of making sense of her life, and she thought that might have been what bothered her about Veronica’s conversation the most. _Was_ she simply attracted to him because it seemed like the best way to _save_ him? 

Thinking of the way her knees went weak whenever he touched her, she decided that thought was ridiculous. She’d felt something real growing between them for weeks, and Jughead had said enough to indicate that he felt the same way. The real problem, she realized, was that Betty didn’t _do_ messy. She didn’t do uncertain. After today, it would be four whole weeks before she was technically able to see him on a regular basis, and she didn’t like that at all.

He’d bared his soul to her before she could give whatever was happening between them a label, and she recognized that. Telling her the truth about his history had been a major act of trust, and Betty felt like she’d more than indicated her trustworthiness in return. So if his past wasn’t going to send her screaming for the hills, then what was holding her back?

Veronica’s words rang in her mind again. _Have you lost your mind? He’s a criminal, Betty._

Considering that statement, Betty could almost imagine a different voice saying nearly the same thing. _He’s a criminal, Elizabeth._

She ran just a little bit faster, clicking up her volume another notch. 

Betty knew in that instant exactly why she still felt hesitant. 

She showered and checked her phone when she stepped out into her steamy bathroom, expecting to see a message from Jughead. She wasn’t disappointed.

_I’m losing my mind. Feel like having a midnight showing? My treat._

With a smirk, she typed back, _Of a kids’ movie?_

His reply was almost instant. _If that’s what you want. I would sit through_ Frozen again if you asked me to play it.

_Now that’s chivalry._

She set her phone down and blow-dried her hair, unable to stop smiling again. Why had she been worried that they were going to fall apart, after today? She’d baked him her chocolate chip cookies, hadn’t she? Betty grinned at herself as she ran her brush through her hair, catching sight of her face in the mirror. This was just one step closer to the end of the program, the end of his parole...and the beginning of something unplanned, overwhelming, and beautiful that she never would have imagined growing between them. 

Betty left the house earlier than she needed to for her private midnight showing, cutting across town with a certain destination in mind. She pulled into a parking space that was far away from the bush she’d thrown up in, cutting her ignition and dropping her keys into her purse. When she stepped inside the diner, a little bell chimed on the door over her head.

She walked up to the counter and picked up a menu, looking at it uncertainly. Before she’d had a chance to find the dinner section, a waitress appeared in front of her. 

“Oh,” the waitress said. “It’s you.”

Betty looked up and met Toni’s eyes. The waitress rolled her gum between her teeth, letting it loudly snap, her expression less than happy. Without needing to ask, Betty knew absolutely that her lukewarm greeting had something to do with Jughead.

“I was hoping you could help me out,” Betty said, despite the way that Toni’s eyes rolled in response. “I wanted to get takeout for Jug, and I know that he’s got a regular order.”

Toni regarded her, her expression cooling slightly, before reluctantly slipping her notepad from the pocket of her apron. Making a few notes, she snapped, “Anything for you, princess?”

At the nickname--which sounded like all sorts of implied anger in comparison to Toni’s almost flirtatious attitude at their first meeting--Betty frowned, thinking of Tall Boy. Unconsciously, she rested her hand against her hip, regarding the petite girl and narrowing her eyes. “A salad,” she said, in response to Toni’s question. “And a strawberry milkshake.”

Toni nodded, writing down the order and turning to slap it into the bar above the kitchen bay. When she moved down the bar a few steps, Betty matched her position on the other side, her brows still knitted together in frustration. Glancing up at her, Toni rolled her eyes again and snatched a towel from beneath the bar, turning her back to Betty and pretending to clean something.

Before she could say anything to the surprisingly rude waitress, Betty felt the hair raise on the back of her neck. She didn’t need to glance back to know that someone was standing behind her, but she did anyway.

The man from the bakery was behind her right shoulder, and a dark-haired man she’d never seen before was standing next to him, at her left. The stranger cracked his knuckles like an eighth grade bully, meeting her eyes. Sweet Pea looked at Toni’s back and said, “You okay, Topaz?”

The waitress glanced over her shoulder at them and huffed. “If Jughead hears about this--”

“He’ll what?” Sweet Pea asked, his eyes flicking to Betty. “He spent a few months locked away and he’s lost his edge. That’s why he’s saying he’s in _love_ , and he’s _done_ , and trying to walk away from the family that’s been there for him all his life.”

She’d file away what he’d been saying to his gang members to melt with excitement later. Instead, Betty turned to face Sweet Pea, staring up into his face without flinching. This might be their territory, she was coming to realize, but she’d come here on Jughead’s behalf, and that gave her a little bit of a right to be standing there...right? 

“Been there to get him arrested, you mean,” she corrected him quietly.

The man at his side whistled, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her. “That was a mistake, princess,” he observed.

Betty glanced over her shoulder at Toni. “Does your food always take this long?” she snapped. Maybe she sounded more irritated to cover how terrified she was feeling inside, like a sort of coping mechanism had possessed her mouth despite all signs that she should just quickly leave.

Toni held her gaze levelly for a long moment, snapping her gum. Betty stared back, willing herself to look more confident than she felt, wondering how long it would take for one of the men standing behind her to attack. Would the waitress signal them, somehow? But instead, Toni’s face curled into a bit of a smile, and she turned to lean easily against the counter. “You’ve got balls,” she commented, grinning. “I see why Jug likes you.”

Betty frowned in confusion, then looked over her shoulder at her leather-clad shadows. Both men had visibly relaxed, too, and were looking at her with much softer expressions. It was like Toni had signaled them after all, to do something that Betty hadn’t been expecting whatsoever. They were _smiling_ at her.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted, looking back at the waitress.

Toni smirked and turned, taking two plates of food from the kitchen bay and slipping them into take-out boxes. She set both in front of Betty and sympathetically purred, “Of course you don’t. Here’s the only thing you need to know, sweetie. Jughead is one of us, for life, whether he’s with us or not. If he breaks your heart after putting us through all this shit--we’ll kick his ass so hard that he’ll _wish_ he were back in prison.”

Betty’s eyebrows rose in surprise, her mouth falling slightly open at the pink-haired woman’s thinly veiled implication. With a bright smile and another pop of her gum, Toni slid the boxes toward her and poured her milkshake into a styrofoam cup. She pressed the lid in place and set it in front of Betty.

She was just starting to reach into her purse for her wallet when Toni glanced significantly at Sweet Pea. He groaned, his face imploring her, but Toni narrowed her eyes and shook her head in response. With a sigh, he slid a card out of his own wallet and held it out to Toni, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

Betty blinked and said, “Oh no, it’s okay. I’ve got this.”

Toni hummed as she slid the card through the register. “You still don’t understand, sweetie. Don’t worry about it. Jughead might not be willing to cash in on what anyone owes him, but I can make sure that Sweet Pea takes care of _you_.” She thrust the card toward the tall Serpent, her smile brightening as he snatched it out of her fingers. “Come back soon,” she said sweetly, looking at Betty.

She took the order and went to her car, leaving Sweet Pea and his cohort (maybe _Fangs,_ the only other member she’d heard Jughead mention by name) to chat with Toni at the bar. When Betty got inside and shut her door, she quickly shoved her key into the ignition and backed out. Only after she’d gotten onto the main road did she laugh at the absurdity of the entire exchange, realizing that she’d had no idea how taking on this case was going to change her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serpentsss!!! <3 
> 
> The next chapter will involve some time jumps. Technically, it will be the end of the story...chapter 16 is an epilogue. Thank you again for all of your lovely comments! Let me know what you think of this update.


	15. Reports

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has quite a few time jumps. Several bughead scenes are dispersed between Betty's official reports for Jughead's file. There's formatting to let you know when it's the report and when it's the story. :)

_The following are official reports from the file of Forsythe Pendleton Jones, archived at the Rockland County Office of Public Records._

**Tuesday, May 18, XXXX.**

Forsythe Jones has transitioned well into society. His outlook has remained consistently positive. By utilizing his strong support network of friends and family, he has been able to avoid negative social influences. His parole officer reports that he has not violated the terms of his release. He has been positive about his job, working as a projectionist, though he is interested in pursuing a career as a writer. Forsythe submitted several manuscripts to literary agents this month, and he is waiting for their responses. His attitude toward this step has been positive. There have been no indications that Forsythe is engaging in criminal activity, suggesting that the impact of the program has been successful in establishing healthier lifestyle choices. Though he is still renting a space in the home of a family friend, he has been considering seeking a more permanent living arrangement. It is anticipated that he will continue to be a successful case in the interim weeks before the next follow-up session.

_Betty laughed and swatted at Jughead as he set his laptop on her stomach, placing himself between her legs so that his wrists rested on her hips while he typed._

_“Don’t interrupt, Betty,” he admonished her, pretending to frown. “I’m going to finish writing this query letter, and_ then _I’ll get to you.”_

_As she squeezed her knees against his sides, grinning, he glanced at her around the laptop screen. She just caught a glimpse of his mischievous smile before he dipped his head down and disappeared, fingers still frozen over the keys, the top of his head nudging the laptop higher up her body. When he released a warm breath directly over her core, she grabbed the laptop herself, shifting it onto the bed next to her. Jughead looked up from his position between her legs with a hurt expression, glancing over at the computer._

_“You’ll have to say in your report that my case manager actively prevented me from pursuing my literary genius,” he complained._

_Betty slipped her fingers into his dark hair and tugged lightly, pulling his mouth closer to where she wanted it. “Shut up,” she said, smiling, lifting her hips as he slid her leggings and panties downward._

_Her hand stayed tangled in his hair, curling tightly as his tongue slid slowly over her center, her head falling back onto her pillow. Betty pressed her hips upward, desire burning through her as he lapped at her sensitive bundle of nerves. Jughead gripped her thigh with one hand, pushing it aside and opening her, digging his fingers into her skin just enough to give her a light chain of bruises--which was _exactly_ enough pressure to make her body tense in pleasure. He used his other hand to slip his fingers inside her, pressing upward, easily finding the place he’d discovered that made her gasp and cry out his name as her body came undone for him. _

_Panting, she opened her eyes and looked down at him, a smile spreading over her face as he ran the back of his arm over his lips, his blue eyes shining with amusement as he met hers. Climbing up her body, he caught her wrists in one hand and pressed them into the pillow above her head. With a roll of his hips against hers, he growled, “Is that what you needed?”_

_Betty nodded._

_Jughead smirked and rubbed the bulge of his arousal across her sensitive core again, sending a shiver through her entire body. She whimpered, “Too much.”_

_In response, he lowered his lips to her ear and said, “Are you going to put this in your report?”_

_Betty shook her head, her mind still hazy with pleasure, the report she needed to write about him today the last thing on her mind. Instead, she breathed, “I can’t wait for November. I want to have you here all the time.”_

_When Jughead released her wrists and held himself up, looking down at her, she saw the yearning etched across his face, too. There was so much of it in his eyes, she could drown. Quietly, he whispered, “Me, too.”_

**Thursday, June 20, XXXX.**

Forsythe continues to act as a model citizen. Despite an official warning from his parole officer, due to a missed curfew, he has been otherwise completely successful in remaining within the parameters of his parole. According to Forsythe, this missed curfew was due to a family emergency. Officer Blossom concurs that he has demonstrated progress, and at her determination Forsythe has remained an active participant in this transitional program. He has successfully published a short article in a niche magazine, which has received positive reviews online so far. Forsythe’s attitude toward pursuing his writing has been likewise positive, and he has continued to submit work for consideration to various editors and publications. His position at the theater has continued to serve him well, as his experience allowed him to train new summer hires. This responsibility indicates the trust that his management has in his abilities, which has been an important sign of his worth outside of the gang. There have been no issues with his former associates, though Forsythe speaks of his experiences with them fondly. It seems that he has not sought contact since his release. His landlord, Fred Andrews, has offered to sign another six month lease until Forsythe is able to secure permanent lodgings. This has been approved by Officer Blossom. It is anticipated that Forsythe will successfully complete the program by the next session, as there have been no indicators of any cause for concern.

_Betty was putting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher when she heard Jughead answer his phone in the other room. She tried not to listen, but even from far away she could tell immediately that his tone was serious. Shutting off the faucet she’d been using to pre-rinse the plates, she braced her hands against the edge of the sink and glanced over her shoulder._

_“Where did they take him? And it’s just another DUI?" she heard. There was a long pause. “No, I_ can’t _, you’ll have to post it. Right. Let me know.”_

_She wiped her hands on a towel and walked into the living room, frowning as she saw Jughead running his hand through his hair and looking down at his cell phone. His whole stance exuded anxiety, and she didn’t hesitate to softly wrap her arms around him, pressing her face against his back._

_“I wasn’t trying to listen,” she said. “Is it your dad?”_

_Jughead sighed, covering her hand on his abdomen with his own. Gently, he squeezed her fingers. “It’s not the first time. He’s going to get his license taken away,” he commented, looking off toward her living room window._

_Betty heard the frustration in his voice, even without seeing his face to read him. To gauge the damage of the situation, she quietly asked, “Was anyone hurt?”_

_“No, thank god,” he replied and turned, her arms falling away as he looked down at her. “Usually, I would go. I would give him some tough love for it, but I would be there. I just--I’m so fucking_ sick _of this shit.” He cursed, glancing away again._

_Betty knew he was talking about the parole, about being restricted from seeing his father because of FP’s own criminal record. She reached out and slipped her hand into his, smoothing her thumb over the back of his hand in a soothing pattern, trying to give him whatever comfort she could. She knew that there wasn’t much she could say to make the situation any better--the parole had been chafing both of them, lately. Veronica was leaving on a cruise, soon, and she’d asked Betty to join her with her_ jailbird man friend _. Betty had immediately declined, knowing that Jughead couldn’t leave the state, but she was yearning to go on vacation with him. The summer months were making it harder and harder to go into the office, and his restrictions were starting to feel like a punishment for her, too._

_She reached up and gently turned his face toward hers, meeting his eyes in an attempt to look reassuring. Trying to point out at least_ one _silver lining to cheer him up, she said, “At least you and I have one more meeting left before we can stop sneaking around town like strangers.”_

_Jughead snorted softly at her words. “Like we ever sneak,” he replied wryly._

_Seeing him take heart, she smiled more genuinely. “Okay, avoiding the vicinity of the office, we do. Going on dates the next town over, we do. Having private movie showings so that no one will see us in the theater together, we do.”_

_He smiled and pulled her close, his thumbs stroking beneath the edge of her t-shirt and along the soft skin at the dip of her hips. “That’s just so that I don’t get fired for feeling you up in front of the customers,” he teased._

_Betty stretched up on her toes, slipping her hands around his neck, and pulled him down so that she could press her lips against his. Playfully flicking her tongue against his bottom lip, she said, “We can do that just as easily at home, Jug.”_

_He looked briefly affronted. “Movie going is an_ experience _, Betty,” he replied, his eyebrows rising._

_She rolled her eyes and nipped his lip with her teeth. “_ You’re _an experience.”_

**Monday, July 30, XXXX.**

Forsythe has demonstrated a full rehabilitation over the course of the transition program. At the onset of his participation, he was reluctant to share information about his life. By recognizing his discomfort _she paused, her fingers frozen over the keys._

_“Why were you so uncomfortable when we started meeting, anyway?”_

_He was draped around her like a blanket, alternating between nibbling her ear and sucking at her neck to distract her. At her question, he paused and gave her a look as if she’d just said something particularly dumb. Betty raised an eyebrow, waiting._

_“I spent most of my teenage years in offices. Counselors, parole officers, school administrators...I think I spent more time looking at paintings of landscapes and answering deep, probing questions about myself than I did in class.”_

_She turned her head and briefly nudged her nose against his, smiling. “I thought you didn’t like me,” she teased._

_Jughead reached over and moved her laptop off her knees, setting it on the coffee table. Then he wrapped his arms around her, rolling them over until she was stradded over his lap, looking up at her with such an affectionate gaze that her breath caught in her chest._

_“How could anyone not like you?” he asked, smiling up at her. “I think I loved you before I met you.”_

_She froze, her eyes widening at his words. Maybe her reaction caused him to realize what he’s said too, because he looked up at her with a flicker of apprehension, like he was still expecting her to kick him out of her life if he said too much._

_Slowly, she smiled in response--a small smile, at first, but one that grew and overtook her as she thought of the connection that had bound them together ever since he’d walked into her office all those months before. That was_ exactly _the right word for it--_ love _._

_“I love you, too,” she replied, the words spilling from her smile. She hoped that they washed away the last of the uncertainty she’d seen in his eyes. She hoped that she could convince him one day that he was stuck with her--that she wasn’t going anywhere. When she leaned down and kissed him, her tongue sliding easily against his, her hands slipping into his hair, her eyes closing naturally, she heard him make a small sound in the back of his throat. It was an appreciative noise, a happy one, and she kissed him even more tenderly for it._

_Grinning foolishly at each other, their hands softly running over one another’s bodies, they looked into each other’s eyes and forgot about the world for a little while._

_It was Betty’s phone that broke the trance, buzzing on the coffee table next to her forgotten laptop. Twisting her body back to glance at it, she groaned when she saw the caller ID._

_“Hello?” she said, slipping off Jughead’s lap as she answered._

_“Cooper? It’s me. I’m just letting you know that Death Chain has violated his parole, and he’s being removed from the program.”_

_Betty sighed at Officer Blossom’s unwelcome news, drawing her lip between her teeth as she glanced at her laptop and her unfinished report. It wasn’t just the news about Death Chain that worried her--she had almost known that he was going to violate his parole, from the moment they’d had their initial meeting. It was the ever-increasing list of exit reports she needed to compile for the cases that were falling apart. By comparison, her successful reports were looking few and far between._

_Maybe that wasn’t her fault entirely, she reasoned. Their program was experimental, and Betty had personally thought all along that the high level of contact during the initial three weeks weren’t supported by the subsequent monthly meetings. Her clients needed more of a transition away from her, and she knew it. But her job wasn’t to rewrite the system, it was simply to function as a vital component._

_“Thanks for letting me know,” she told Officer Blossom, hanging up without a goodbye. Setting her phone down on the table again, she worried her lip and looked at her screen._

_“Bad news?” Jughead asked softly, running his fingers over the side of her leg._

_Betty glanced over and nodded, then looked back at the screen._

By recognizing his discomfort, an alternate approach was implemented. Meetings were held in locations of Forsythe’s choosing, which put him at ease and facilitated a more natural flow of conversation. Thus, his major stressors were able to be identified and addressed. With the exception of a single written warning on his parole record, he has been a model citizen since his release. The written warning, due to a family emergency, was issued by Officer Blossom along with the observation that Forsythe has demonstrated many indicators of improved behavior. His success in publishing, his continued success at hourly work as a projectionist, and the support of his family and friends have allowed him to rebuild his self-efficacy. It is anticipated that he will continue to demonstrate improvement, and unlikely that he will commit any repeat offenses. In summary, his participation in the program has successfully improved his lifestyle.

_“I had the best case manager,” he said, reading over her shoulder._

_Betty glanced over. “These reports are confidential, you know,” she muttered._

_Jughead shook his head and slipped his arms around her. “Nothing’s confidential between you and me,” he replied, pulling her back against the couch with him._

_Betty let herself go, rationalizing that she had completed the first report she’d set out to write--Death Chain’s could wait until later. She settled herself onto Jughead’s lap, tucking her head against his chest, relaxing as he began to run his fingers through her hair. She couldn’t see his face from her vantage point, but she could feel the tension leaving his body, too._

_After they’d soaked in enough of one another’s warmth, Betty slid to the side and reached for the book on her end table. Jughead slid her laptop onto his lap in her place, opening a new tab and pulling up his Google doc account to work on some of his writing. Settling into a familiar pattern of comfortable companionship, they occupied themselves for several hours. Betty pressed herself against Jughead’s side, her head leaning against his shoulder as she quietly turned the pages._

_As the clock marched ever onward, Betty kept glancing up to check the time. They’d accidentally slept through his curfew a few months before, and he’d unfortunately been pulling into the Andrews’ driveway just as Officer Blossom was arriving for a random visit. He’d been able to convince her that it was because of an emergency, and she’d decided to give him a warning. Ever since then, Betty had been hyper-vigilant about making sure that she sent him out on time. She absolutely could not live with herself if cuddling him resulted in Jughead being sent back to prison._

_At eight o’clock in the morning the following day, Betty sat upright in bed as someone pounded on the door downstairs. Heart hammering, she pulled her robe around herself and rushed down in her bare feet. “I’m coming!” she called, turning the lock._

_When she opened the door, Jughead was standing there, a helmet tucked under his arm. Betty blinked in surprise, frowning at the way he’d been urgently knocking--he’d made her think that something was wrong. He moved his eyes deliberately from the top of her head to her feet, slowly taking in her robe and pajamas. When he looked back at her face, he was grinning in that way that made her lose track of her thoughts._

_“I’ve been up for hours,” he announced. “I don’t think that time has passed this slowly for me in six months.”_

_Betty raised her eyebrows, stepping aside to let him in and closing the door behind him. With a slight grumble at her rude awakening, she asked, “Why?”_

_Jughead set the helmet down on the arm of her couch and caught her unexpectedly in his arms, lifting her off her feet just enough to spin her around. “Because--you’re not my case manager any more,” he said, his voice gleeful. Betty blinked and looked at him, not comprehending what he was saying._

_Then it dawned on her. “You’re right...I’m not,” she said slowly, her lips slowly curving into a smile._

_He set her down and kissed her quickly, then gave her a little push toward the stairs. “Go and get dressed,” he said. “We’re going downtown today, because _it doesn’t matter who sees us._ ”_

_Betty laughed, catching on to his enthusiasm. “Ethel had better hope that she’s driving down Main before nine on a Tuesday morning, or she won’t be the first one in the office to spread the news,” she said, raising her voice as she made her way to her bedroom so that he would hear her._

_When she came downstairs, Jughead was finishing a piece of toast. He looked her over and nodded, holding out the helmet. “Very practical,” he complimented her with a knowing smirk. Betty had put on a tea-length sundress, striped light blue and white, with a thin cream cardigan. She’d left her hair down, knowing that her ponytail would get messy under the helmet if she were to put it on and take it off enough times. Applying a light coat of natural makeup, and brushing chapstick over her lips because she knew that lipstick would never last around him, she’d gotten ready quickly. Slipping into some strappy flat sandals by the door, Betty straightened and took the helmet._

_“We’re going to that bistro for breakfast,” she informed him. “They have the best strawberries and cream, with scones. You’ll die.”_

_Jughead raised an eyebrow. “You keep saying they’re so good, but I fed you Sweet Pea’s food.” He spun his keys around his finger as she turned and locked the door to her house._

_Betty glanced over. “But his cookies are dry. How can he work in a bakery and make dry cookies?” she asked, for the hundredth time._

_Jughead smirked and pulled her to him, almost knocking the helmet out of her hands, and leaned down to kiss her. She’d been wise to skip the lipstick, she commended herself. When he straightened, he said, “I don’t think anyone in the world can make them better than you.”_

_Betty pulled the helmet onto her head, letting him get on the motorcycle before she carefully climbed into her place. She made sure her skirt was tucked properly so that she wouldn’t drive through town giving everyone a show, and then she wrapped her arms around Jughead’s middle. Feeling that she was situated, he revved the bike and pulled out onto the main road._

_Seated at a little table on the patio of her favorite downtown bistro, she squealed and snatched her bowl out of his reach, quickly shoving her last bite into her mouth before he could steal it. Betty chewed quickly and swallowed, then grinned at him, not falling for his dramatic (and fake) pout._

_A breeze tousled his hair, sending it curling over his eyes for a moment. Betty glanced up as their waiter brought her a second cup of tea, quietly removing their empty plates. Since they were seated outside, Jughead lit a cigarette in lieu of finishing the last of her breakfast. He raised it casually to his lips and inhaled, the flames eating away at the paper and embers on the other end. Betty blew over the top of her tea, pressing the edge of the teacup against her mouth to check the temperature._

_As he exhaled, sending smoke curling into the breeze behind his head, Betty carefully sipped her tea and realized that it was too bitter. She spooned a little bit of honey from the pot in the middle of the table into her cup, dipping the spoon in to stir. Betty licked the spoon clean before she set it on the edge of her napkin. When she tested her tea again, it was perfect._

_Jughead was watching her, she realized, a satisfied smile turning up the corners of his mouth. His deep blue eyes moved to her lips, and she leaned forward unconsciously, wanting to kiss him too._

_Betty couldn’t find the words to describe how much she loved him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that this update took so long! I got all caught up in the start of the school year and getting everything set up for this semester. This is effectively the end of the story--the next chapter is an epilogue set a few months in the future. It has been so much fun working on this, and I am so grateful for all the support that everyone has given me! I have to thank my beta readers again, Cyd and Evie, for all of their feedback and help! I love hearing what you think, leave me a comment if you've enjoyed this story please. :)


	16. Epilogue: Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I can’t believe how time has started to fly since school has been back in session. I am SO sorry that it took so long to complete this story! The epilogue is on the long side to make up for it, so I hope that you still enjoy!

A house full of guests should have filled Betty with so much anxiety that she would have been scrubbing every surface until her hands were raw, but having Jughead there at eight in the morning prevented her from going insane. He arrived with a bag of last-minute groceries, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and she met him at the door with a quick kiss before she snatched them from his hands and dashed back to the kitchen.

The turkey was already in the oven, and she needed to start peeling potatoes. Regular potatoes, sweet potatoes--and enough of them for one of the pies she was making. She needed to get all of them boiling as soon as possible or they wouldn’t have enough time to cool.

As she began to glide her peeler over the potatoes, sending shavings flying into the sink, Jughead came up behind her and gently ran his hands over her shoulders. “Betty,” he said, his tone chastising, “What time did you get up this morning?”

She glanced back at him, then over at the microwave clock. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Five?”

Jughead drew in a breath behind her. “Five?” he repeated. “Okay, stop. Give me that,” he reached over and plucked the peeler from her hand, making her set down her half-shorn potato in the bowl next to the sink. “Did you even have any breakfast?”

She shook her head.

Gently turning her and taking her hands in his, Jughead led her to her small dining table. He aligned her in front of a chair, where she would have a full view of the kitchen, and she sat down when the edge of the seat met the back of her knees. “You’re taking a break,” he informed her. “I’m making you tea, and toast, and you’re going to eat it. I’ll peel the potatoes.”

It was no use arguing, she saw. His jaw was set in that way that meant he wasn’t going to back down, which she’d come to recognize throughout the year they’d been together. Besides, her stomach was rumbling in agreement with him. Betty watched as he filled her electric kettle and set it to brew. He found her favorite mug in the cupboard, placing it on the counter while he waited for the kettle’s little red light to come on. Glancing over at her, he dropped two pieces of bread into her toaster, compressing the lever. 

By the time she finished her toast, the potatoes were peeled. Jughead began patiently trimming the ends off a pile of green beans without needing to be asked. 

They worked together until Betty wiped the back of her flour-covered arm over her forehead and surveyed the kitchen. “I think,” she said uncertainly, her eyes checking each dish and its progress, “we have to stop for now. Other than basting the turkey, everything is done.”

Jughead looked around and nodded, starting to sweep scraps off the counter into his cupped hand. “It’s not even eleven,” he said, glancing over at the clock. “What time is your mom getting here?”

Even though he asked casually, she looked over at him with concern. They’d talked about her mother, of course--extensively, sometimes with a lot of tears on her part. Betty was worried that she’d inflated her mother into some sort of gargantuan monster in his mind, though she hadn’t been trying to distort his impression of the woman who raised her. Compounded with Jughead’s mother-abandonment issues, meeting Betty’s mom had become a dreadful hurdle in his mind, and she was fully aware of it. He’d said those words explicitly only a few days before.

“She’s supposed to be here around noon,” Betty replied, turning on the sink and starting to scrub her hands. She picked up a towel to clean the counter, but Jughead took it from her. 

“I’ve got it. Go and sit down, have a nap. Dad’s already on his way over, he just messaged me.”

Like she could take a nap after being reminded of _that_ , she thought dryly. Betty came around the kitchen island and kissed him, being careful to hold her wet hands away from his shirt. She saw a smudge of flour on his neck when she stepped back, unconsciously biting her lower lip at the sight.

“Maybe we should have a quick shower,” she suggested, meeting his eyes. “We could share and save time.”

Jughead didn’t need to be invited twice. Though she had to fight him to get a turn under the water, and seeing his scars in the daylight always made her breath stick in her throat and her heart hammer painfully, she emerged from the shower _mostly_ clean. Something about Jughead, even after all the months they’d spent together, made her feel like a teenager again. As she put on the dress she’d bought with Veronica for the evening, she turned and let him zip the back, holding her damp hair out of the way. 

Betty turned around, making her skirt fly up around her knees and looking happily at Jughead. “What do you think?” she asked.

He stepped closer, slipping his hands over the silky material on her hips until he was cupping her rear and pulling her against himself. His blue eyes looked her over, affection softening his gaze as he took in each detail of the way her new dress accentuated her curves, a hint of desire darkening his expression. Jughead drew in a breath and said, “I think that I want you to turn around so that I can unzip it.”

A giggle bubbled out of her at his reaction, and she turned out of his embrace. “Your dad should already be here,” she reminded him, going to her closet to find the black leather peekaboo heels she’d chosen to compliment the violet gown. It was a vintage cut, sleeveless, with a boatneck that cut modestly across her collarbones, in a classic sort of Hepburn-esque style. A thin black belt with a silver buckle clasped around her waist, and the full skirt flared out over her hips, stopping just below her knees. There was a little chiffon sewn under the skirt so that it would maintain a full appearance. Though Betty worried that it was a little more Veronica’s style than her own, when she saw the way that the color accentuated her eyes she put her worries aside. 

Of course, she’d have to be careful the rest of the evening not to get food all over herself. Betty wondered briefly if it was too early to get dressed for dinner, but then she saw Jughead slipping a dress shirt out of his duffel bag. He shook it out briefly, and Betty secretly verified that it wasn’t too wrinkled, before he put it on and began to do the buttons. She sat down on the edge of her bed and watched appreciatively as he clipped suspenders into place, her lips pressing together to conceal a smile as her traitorous mind imagined how exciting it would be to push them _off_ his shoulders, instead.

Jughead glanced over at her and smirked at her expression. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Betty felt a blush creep over her cheeks. “Nothing,” she said quickly. Before her mind could continue to tantalize her, she quickly went to her vanity to put on her makeup.

She was brushing mascara over her eyelashes when there was a knock at the door downstairs. Betty’s stomach did a nervous flip, knowing exactly who was standing on her stoop. Since she’d spoken with FP in her office she hadn’t seen him again, other than the night that she and Jughead sat outside the trailer and talked about his past--but that didn’t really count. Betty knew through Jughead’s contact with the Serpents that FP was still struggling with drinking, and he’d gotten in trouble a few times already this summer. Without Jughead to pick him up from the holding cell at the police station, he’d slept off his buzz there more than once.

Jughead leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Dad will love you,” he reassured her, seeing her worried expression. Betty nodded, trying to calm her nerves. Pulling the bedroom door slightly closed behind himself, Jughead went downstairs to get the door.

She quickly finished applying her makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror, she drew in a deep breath, until the muscles over her stomach were taut. Betty held it for a second before slowly exhaling, imagining that her nervousness was leaving her body like air going out of a balloon. With a strong look at her reflection, she said, “You can do this, for Jug.” If she was completely honest with herself, it wasn’t even Jughead’s dad that was filling her with anxiety. No, the real source of her worries--maybe the source of _all_ of them, if she were truly, brutally honest with herself--was the imminent arrival of her mother.

She’d been reassuring him that her mother would accept him, of course, but Betty was nearly beside herself with the knowledge that she was a master at seeking out the sordid details of people’s past mistakes and using them as leverage to rip apart their self esteem. Eating a piece of chocolate cake at ten o’clock the night before a trip to the beach had been bad enough for Betty. Choosing to study psychology and going into a service field rather than pursuing journalism had been equally difficult. Dating someone with a criminal record--someone who had been one of her _cases_ when they’d met--was a whole new level of fodder for her mother’s catalogue of insults and chastisements. Betty wasn’t so much worried for Jughead about her visit--she was worried for _herself_.

Betty was fully aware that she’d transferred some of her concerns into Jughead’s impression of her mother, which was why he was worrying about meeting her, too. There was nothing for it but to forge ahead, though, and Betty knew it. Better to face her demons than internalize them, she told herself.

Plus, she’d been having her mother over for Thanksgiving dinner ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home. Though the first few years were rough, and her mother was overly critical of every single dish Betty had produced, they’d settled into a sort of routine. In her own way, her mother had pushed her to perfect her holiday cooking, her subtle insults and criticisms pushing Betty year after year to make her food absolutely _perfect_. She’d finally looked over the table at her daughter just last year and said, _At least you won’t scare away a husband with your cooking any more, Elizabeth._ It was the closest thing to a compliment that she’d ever offered to her daughter.

Betty made herself get up from her chair and move towards the door. She could hear the sound of two men talking quietly downstairs, and she knew that she couldn’t hide up here for long. Setting her shoulders back and lifting her head, Betty envisioned herself being filled with confidence and fixed her Cooper smile in place. The mental trick worked to sooth her nerves, for now.

As she walked into her own living room, two men looked over at her with almost identical, slightly crooked, smiles. Betty said, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Jones.”

He glanced briefly at Jughead before he said, “Just FP please, Betty. It’s good to see you, too.” Then his smile warmed into a grin and he added, “I’ve heard that you kept my boy in line. _Thank you_.”

Jughead rolled his eyes and looked away in embarrassment. “Dad,” he said, his voice bordering on a whine. Betty couldn’t help laughing at his tone, and she returned FP’s warm smile.

“It really wasn’t me,” she replied. “Jughead just hated the food in prison.” They both laughed at her joke, since everyone in the room immediately knew how true that statement really was. Betty gestured toward her little dining table and said, “Thank you for coming over. Make yourself comfortable--can I get you anything?”

FP settled into one of her chairs and shook his head. “I’m okay. Thanks, Betty.”

She glanced at Jughead. “I’m going to check on the turkey,” she announced, going into the kitchen and giving the two of them a chance to continue the conversation she’d interrupted.

From what she could hear while she basted, they were discussing the Serpents. FP was letting Jughead know how everyone was doing, including a few specific updates on people that Betty knew were his friends. Sweet Pea had been staying out of trouble, putting in longer hours at the bakery now that he’d taken over the leadership position permanently for Jughead. Fangs had gotten into a fight with someone called Reaper, but there had been no charges pressed for assault because the rival gangster didn’t want the law involved, luckily. She happened to walk out of the kitchen just as FP was saying, “If your girl hadn’t gone and walked into Pops on her own, they were going to give you shit about leav--”

He stopped when he saw Betty, a guilty look flashing across his face. Jughead glanced over at her, his expression clearly annoyed at the reminder of the little showdown she’d had with the Serpents a few months before. He hadn’t been irritated to get his takeout, but later he’d asked Toni how Betty had known his order and he’d gotten the whole story. They’d had a little conversation about walking into gang territory-- _but how was I supposed to know that you took me out to eat at their headquarters? Why did the Serpents claim a_ diner _as their place, anyway?_ \--and the topic had mostly been dropped.

“It’s fine,” Betty said to FP, reassuring him. “I wouldn’t have gone there on my own if Jug hadn’t taken me there first. They do have good food, though.”

The men glanced at each other. Then, Jughead sighed wistfully and said, “The best.”

FP grinned, the tension broken. They talked pleasantly together about Jughead’s childhood for a little while. FP did his absolute best to embarrass his son by recounting all of the things that had been odd about him as a kid, from the year that he’d watched nothing but Alfred Hitchcock classics-- _A cinematic genius,_ Jughead interrupted, protesting--to the time the school called because they were concerned about the content of his poetry. When there was finally another knock at the door, Jughead was thoroughly annoyed with his dad and rolling his eyes so hard he was lucky he didn’t tear his retinas. 

Betty got up to open the door for their next guest, her heart thumping anxiously in anticipation of who it should have been. Instead, when she opened the door, she was pleasantly surprised to see Archie and Fred. The elder Andrews had two folding chairs under his arm, and his son was carrying a card table. 

“Hi Betty, sorry we’re a little early,” Archie said with a smile.

She stepped aside, glancing out at the parking lot to check for her mother’s car, and then returned a friendly smile of her own. “It’s not a problem, thank you for bringing the extra table and chairs.”

When Jughead asked her if he could invite Archie and Fred for dinner, too, she’d been happy to agree. The only trouble was that her little table could hardly seat four, so Jughead told the Andrews that they’d need to bring their own table and chairs if they wanted to have any of Betty’s cooking. Both were happy to agree, and her space problem was solved.

As Archie and Jughead set up the table like an extension of hers, Betty watched FP and Fred shake hands and exchange greetings. She’d forgotten until now that they were old friends, too. Hadn’t Jughead mentioned that his dad grew up with Mr. Andrews? Waiting so that she didn’t interrupt their conversation, Betty said, “Fred, can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got beer, wine, juice, water...”

He looked speculatively at FP. “A beer sounds great, Betty, thanks.”

Sounding a little hesitant, FP said, “I’ll have one too.”

She nodded, not wanting to indicate that she knew about his issues. Disappearing momentarily to the kitchen, she returned with two bottles of lager, handing them to her middle-aged guests. Then Betty knowingly turned on her TV and found the channel playing football, glancing over at Fred with a smile. He nodded his thanks, raising his bottle in a silent salute.

Turning, she joined Archie and Jughead in her small dining nook. It felt even tinier now that the table had doubled in size and two more chairs were pushed into the space, she observed with an inward wince. Hopefully her mother found it acceptable. 

“Do you want a beer too, Archie?” she asked, and then looked at Jughead when he nodded. “Jug?”

Archie glanced over at him sharply. “Aren’t you--”

Jughead interrupted, a grin spreading over his face. “Off parole, _today_ , actually,” he interrupted. “Yes, love. I’ll have a beer, too.”

She smirked, going back into the kitchen. Jughead had been in Officer Blossom’s office most of the afternoon the day before, completing an interview and filling out paperwork. Though she could have extended his parole until _after_ the holidays if she were feeling spiteful enough, a phone call from her colleague, Betty Cooper, had changed her mind. Jughead had been an exemplary parolee, anyway.

As Betty popped off both bottle caps, she smiled to herself. Jughead had rushed into work after his meeting, getting off in the middle of the night and going back to his place at Archie’s to crash. She was looking forward to tonight--the _first_ night in their relationship where he’d be able to stay at her place the entire night.

It was something she was looking forward to excitedly enough that she felt like she _might_ just be able to handle anything her mother threw at her this afternoon. As she handed Jughead and Archie their bottles, they turned to one another and exchanged a look before clinking the bottoms together.

“To freedom,” Jughead said, grinning.

Archie laughed shortly. “To keeping you out of trouble from now on,” he replied, taking a drink.

Betty went back into the kitchen to check that her pie was set, thinking it was almost time to take it out of the oven. As she slipped on her oven mitts, she heard another knock at the door. Her heart leaped into her throat, knowing exactly who it had to be.

Before she could take off her mitts and get it herself, she heard someone else opening the door for her mother. Betty quickly set her pie on top of the stove, grabbing a casserole dish of green beans and slipping it into the empty space in the oven. Leaving the pie there to cool, she pulled off her mitts and quickly checked her appearance in the shadowy reflection on the front of her microwave before she went to her living room.

It turned out that Fred had answered the door. He was shaking hands with her mother, smiling and introducing himself, while Alice turned her critical eye toward Betty’s overcrowded little dining area. When she saw her daughter coming out of the kitchen, she glanced back at Fred and briefly replied, “Alice Cooper, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Betty walked over and gave her mother a brief hug in greeting. “Hi, mom,” she said, stepping back and fixing a smile in place that she _hoped_ wasn’t indicative of her worry. 

Her mother looked her over from head to toe, reaching out and adjusting Betty’s hair. When she met Betty’s eyes again, her most joyless smile was plastered onto her face. “You’re looking...healthy, Elizabeth.” she said.

Betty winced inwardly. _Healthy_ was her mother’s way of saying, _You’ve gained weight_ , and she knew it. Pretending like she wasn’t hurt, she said, “Thanks mom, you look beautiful, as always.”

She glanced over as Jughead came to her side, her heart hammering anxiously. He held out his hand in greeting, smiling charmingly, and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cooper. If I didn’t know you were Betty’s mom, I would have thought you were her sister.”

Her mother’s smile warmed, just a little. Taking Jughead’s hand, she replied, “You must be Jug Head. I have to admit, you are _not_ what I was expecting, when Elizabeth told me.”

Betty saw him glance over at her and she felt her lower lip twitch to one side, resisting the urge to bite it nervously at her mother’s subtle insult. She’d told her mom about him, of course, thinking that it would soften the shock if she knew about Betty’s boyfriend before she got there for Thanksgiving dinner. Unable to imagine sitting through dinner and listening to her mother call him _Forsythe_ all night, she’d explained his nickname--and then she’d been forced to explain how they’d met, of course. Her mother’s deadly silence on the phone had been the fuel that fanned the flames of Betty’s anxiety ever since.

Jughead released her mother’s hand and slipped his arm around Betty’s waist instead. She tucked herself against his side, feeling a little relieved by the contact. “I’m used to not meeting people’s expectations,” he said in response to her mother, smiling easily. “Can we get you anything? How was your drive?”

Her mom glanced at her, taken aback by the way Jughead subtly reminded her that _they_ were hosting her today. Betty just smiled in return, slipping one hand over Jughead’s chest so that her fingers were caught under the strap of his suspender. He glanced over at her with an affectionate look, the hand on her waist giving her a little squeeze.

“I’ll have a glass of wine, _Betty,_ ” her mother said, looking at her pointedly.

Jughead stepped away from her side, turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll open a bottle, love,” he said, before Betty could move to fulfill her mother’s order.

She gestured toward the table and said, “Have a seat, mom. Dinner is almost ready.”

For a moment, her mother looked like she was going to say something. But then she chose a chair near the opening to the living room, where she would have the most personal space, and sat herself. Archie smiled over at her and introduced himself, unperturbed by her frosty response. 

Betty followed Jughead into the kitchen, putting her hand on his back and making a face when he looked over at her. He took down a second glass from her cupboard and filled it with wine, too. “I think you might need this,” he said quietly, pressing it into her hand. 

She sighed and glanced over at the dining area, where he mother was watching them. “I think you’re right,” she muttered. Taking the other glass, she brought it to the table and set it in front of her mom, leaving hers in front of the empty chair at her side. “I’m going to set everything out in the kitchen, mom, and we’ll get started.”

Her mother started to rise from her seat. “Let me help you,” she said, but Betty gestured that she should stay where she was. After all, that was their tradition--her mother watched critically from the dining table while Betty set everything out, playing the role of the perfect hostess. Her offer to help must have been all show for the unusual number of men that had joined them this year. Betty wasn’t surprised.

Jughead helped her place the turkey on her kitchen island, going back to the oven before he took off the mitts to take out everything she’d had on the bottom shelf, too. Betty produced serving utensils for everything, transferring things carefully into fancy serving dishes so that she didn’t dirty her dress. 

Once the food was all laid out, Jughead inhaled deeply and met her eyes. “If you keep feeding me like this, I’m really going to marry you,” he teased, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss, mindful of the eyes watching their every move.

Betty smiled against his mouth before he pulled away. “Do you promise?” she asked.

He nodded, grinning, and turned to take her good plates down from the cupboard. Betty looked the kitchen over after he set them down in a stack next to her sink, making sure that everything was as it should be. Stepping into the living room, she said to Fred and FP, “Dinner is ready. I’m sorry that my table is so small, we’ll have to serve ourselves in the kitchen.”

At her words, both men rose from the couch. “It’s not a problem, Betty,” FP replied with a smile. “I don’t think Jug and I have had a real Thanksgiving like this in years. We always used to live on takeout.”

She glanced over at Jughead. He’d told her weeks before that they hadn’t shared a real turkey dinner since his mother had taken his sister and abandoned them both. At his dad’s words, she was worried that he would look hurt. He caught her checking on him and smiled instead, briefly raising his eyebrows instead as if to silently indicate that what FP said was right. 

Betty saw her mother’s slight eye roll as she rose from her chair and took her place in line at the doorway of the kitchen. She knew that asking everyone to serve themselves would go against her mother’s expectations, but it was by far the most practical thing to do. 

Once everyone was seated around the extended dining table, and everyone, save one significant guest, had complimented Betty’s cooking, the topic turned to Jughead. 

“Do you remember when he was putting his whole name on all his school essays?” Archie was saying, amidst bursts of laughter. “The teachers couldn’t figure out who he was for weeks. They thought he was plagiarising.”

Jughead groaned. “They gave me detention,” he muttered, raising a fork full of turkey to his mouth. 

FP said, “I do remember that. They called me into the office and I had to bring them his birth certificate the next day. I brought stacks of those notebooks he had at home, too, to prove it was his writing.” He laughed too, looking over at his son. “They didn’t believe that a ninth grader knew words like _denouement_.” 

Betty was laughing at the anecdote, too, but her amusement dried up the instant that she saw her mother quietly dab at her mouth with her napkin and clear her throat. “And what,” she said, glancing over at Jughead, “is your real name?”

He sighed, looking over at his dad. “It’s Forsythe Pendleton Jones, _the third_ ,” he said, heavily emphasizing the suffix.

Betty blinked in surprise, straightening. “The third?” she repeated, glancing between both Jones men. “That means--”

“Yes. Forsythe Pendleton Jones, _the second_ ,” said FP with a grin. “Couldn’t let my old man torture _only_ me, after all.”

Jughead leaned toward her and said quietly, “He named my sister Forsythia, too. Don’t worry, I’m not half as sadistic as he is, and I’m _much_ more original.”

Betty’s brows drew together, a thought occurring to her at this revelation. “But in your records, they never added the suffix on any of your paperwork,” she said. “ _I_ never added it to my reports, either.”

He raised a shoulder and said jokingly, “Guess my grandad has the criminal record then, huh? Their mistake, not mine.”

She bit her bottom lip, not even realizing that she was doing it. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she said, frowning. 

Her mother interjected dryly, “It’s not.”

Glancing over, she could see that her mother was hardly amused by the reminder of Jughead’s past. Before she could say anything, Betty stood up and said, “Did anyone save room for pie?”

After dinner, Jughead dragged Archie into the kitchen and the two of them took care of the leftover food and the dishes. Fred and FP returned to the living room, where they found a James Bond marathon after the game ended and talked amicably as it played. That left Betty to sit in the dining room with her mother, sipping their wine. 

Glancing into the kitchen, Alice quietly said, “I can see why you’re attracted to him, Betty. But honestly...don’t you think that you can do better?”

She’d been waiting all night for something along these lines to be said, and Betty drew herself up as she gathered the courage to respond. Looking her mother in the eye, she replied, “I love him, mom. He’s a good person, whether or not you want to see that. Jughead is a part of my life, and if you want to be, too, you just have to accept him.”

Taking a long sip of her wine, her eyes flashing over the rim, her mother glanced over at Jughead again. Without raising her voice, she said, “You’re making a mistake, Elizabeth.”

That was enough. Letting exasperation creep into her tone, Betty replied, “You said that when I went to college, mom. You said it when I bought this house. You said it when I bought my _car_. I’m not living my life for _you_ , and you need to realize that now.” Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but Betty wasn’t done. Raising her voice a little, she said, “Every good decision I’ve made in my life, you’ve fought against. Well, guess what? Jughead has a criminal record, and _I don’t care_. He makes me feel a thousand times better about myself than _you_ ever have.”

Her mother’s face flushed, knowing that Betty’s words were sharp enough to carry into the kitchen and the living room. But she didn’t care that Archie, Fred, FP, and Jughead could hear what she had to say. Betty wasn’t going to let her mother come into _her_ house and intimidate her any more. 

Setting down her wine glass, her mother smoothed one hand over her skirt and rose from her chair. “I’ll let myself out,” she said, her tone low and quiet, communicating the fury that she must have been feeling at Betty’s outburst. 

Without saying anything to the other guests, her mother collected her purse from the table by the door. Ten eyes watched her as she turned the handle, let herself into the yellow-orange of the oncoming night, and left. 

Jughead was at Betty’s side in an instant. He put his hand on her arm, brows drawing up in concern as she looked up at him. 

She sighed and glanced over at their other guests, who were looking at them with awkward trepidation. Betty said, “I’m sorry about that,” loudly enough that they could hear her.

Archie replied, “Don’t worry about it, Betty. Families are always complicated.”

His words put her at ease, and she looked back at Jughead with a small smile. “Well, that wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” she muttered, reaching over and covering the hand he’d put on her arm with hers. Stroking her thumb over his skin, she felt herself relax as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

After dinner was taken care of, she produced Clue from the cabinet below her television and suggested that they could play. Jughead, knowing how much she loved reading mystery novels, smirked at the sight. As they were playing through their first game, which Fred and FP came to the table to join, Betty glanced over at the clock. A jolt of shock flew through her as her mind registered the time: half-past eight. She glanced over at Jughead just as he was raising his beer bottle to his lips, and made herself relax.

She’d forgotten that his parole was _finally_ over. He’d never have to rush out of her house at eight o’clock again--not as long as she had something to say about the decisions he made in his life, she thought ruefully. Jughead caught her looking at him and smiled, a genuine smile that made his eyes shine with happiness, too. Maybe he knew what she was thinking about.

That night, after the house was empty and the evidence of the holiday gathering was all cleaned away, Betty changed into her lacy blue lingerie. Since Jughead had been leaving every night that they’d been together, she had a whole wardrobe of sexy pajamas to show him. With his duffel bag of clothes, his toothbrush, and toiletries, she was fairly certain that he was just as eager to discover them as she was to show them off.

She emerged from her bathroom after removing her makeup to find him sitting in her bed, wearing only his boxers, and flipping through the novel she’d had on her nightstand. Glancing up at her, Jughead immediately set the novel aside.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Have I told you today that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. To tease him a little bit more, Betty stretched one arm up the side of her door frame, knowing that the hem of her lingerie was riding up her thigh.

Jughead was before her in an instant, his hands sliding around her waist, his mouth against hers. Betty gasped against his lips as he slipped his hands around the back of her thighs, lifting her up and bringing her back to the bed with him, fingers digging slightly into her skin. He pulled her down on top of his body, her legs naturally straddling his waist, still kissing her desperately as he slid his hands into her hair and his fingers cupped the back of her head. 

Betty teasingly ground herself over him, the thin fabric of his boxers and her panties hardly providing any sort of barrier between them. With a groan, Jughead let go of her. His head fell back against her pillow and his hands slid up her thighs, fingers hooking around her panties. “Betty,” he said, his voice low with desire.

She purposely bit her lip and looked down at him, splaying her hands over his chest and dragging her core over his hardened arousal again. Jughead’s hips rose against her, making the friction unbearably pleasurable, causing her to throw her head back and moan. She rocked forward again, then rose onto her knees so that he could push away his boxers, kicking them off his legs. 

The instant that he was naked, she reached down and moved her panties to the side, rubbing her own finger over herself and meeting his eyes. Jughead’s breath hitched and she could feel his cock twitch beneath her in anticipation, gently tapping against her inner thigh. Reaching down further, she closed her fingers around his length, her eyes still on his face. As she lowered herself onto him, she saw him glance down to watch himself slide within her. The look on his face made her clench involuntarily around him, before she’d even started to move.

Jughead looked up at her with an expression that was mostly awe, tinged only slightly by amusement. “Already, love?” he asked, the words teasing.

Betty pressed her hands against his chest as she slowly raised herself, until just the tip of him was left within her. As she slid back down, another moan escaped her lips. This position gave her the most control, letting her decide how quickly she would ride him, and allowing her to push down until she felt him reaching that place deep within her that made her entire body weak with pleasure. She ground her hips against him, feeling him reach the spot, her core clenching again as he cupped her breasts with both hands.

She rode him slowly, selfishly focusing on building toward her own climax, knowing from the sounds that escaped him that he was enjoying himself, too. Jughead’s hands softly caressed her sides, his hips rising to meet hers each time she came down, thrusting his length up deep inside her until she was moaning his name and begging him not to stop. He squeezed her rear, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, urging her to go faster and harder, until she was bracing herself against his shoulders and grinding herself wildly up and down. 

She felt herself nearing her climax, her body clenching around him, and she had just enough presence of mind to gasp and let him know it was happening before she froze above him, her body spasming on his length. Jughead gripped her hips, sliding her up and then thrusting hard within her as he found his own release, unable to hold himself back as he felt her finishing around him. 

She wilted forward, her head turned against his chest as his arm wrapped around her. They panted against each other for a moment, both completely satisfied. When Betty finally found the energy to move, she slid off of him and curled against his side, her head tucked against the soft part of his shoulder.

Jughead pressed his lips against her forehead, and she could feel him smiling. She looked up and met his eyes, her heart filling at the sight of the utter adoration she saw reflected in those deep blue pools. “I’m so glad I don’t have to run the fuck away after that, any more,” he muttered, referring to his curfew. 

Betty gave a satisfied sigh, curling her hand over his chest and nuzzling against him. “Me, too,” she agreed. 

After they’d showered quickly, Betty changed into her regular pajamas and Jughead found his boxers. They fit themselves together under her comforter, his arm finally resting over her side as she’d dreamed it was for months. She closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep, feeling like everything was finally perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t begin to explain how thrilling it’s been to work on this. I owe a huge thank you to both of my beta readers, Cyd and Evie.
> 
> With all the support I’ve gotten from this wonderful fandom, I really started to trust in some of my writing abilities. Without getting into the details, I had a pretty rough time last summer after I started posting this project and all of the positivity surrounding it kept me going through some pretty depressing weeks. Thank you everyone who has shared, liked, commented, or just read through this little AU. Out of all the fan communities I’ve seen over the years, I’ve been so impressed with the way that Bughead fans have come together and supported the show, the actors, and each other. 
> 
> I did start a little coda for this story, and hopefully I’ll have time to finish it soon. It’s called “Leftovers”, so keep an eye out on A03 and Tumblr. I’m moon—mama if you want to find me there. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think of the ending! <3


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